The Plight of Honourable Men
by Larael
Summary: The tale of an honourable Commodore and a not so honourable Governor's daughter and their personal struggles to understand just what it means to love and be loved in return. Rated T for later chapters. No flames allowed.
1. The Captain and the Blacksmith

**Authoress' Note:** This story has literally been a year in the making. After I finished A Series of Steps, the prequel to A Series of Firsts, I promised to write more Norribeth. I knew immediately what I wanted to write, but I also knew it would take quite a bit of time. Now I've finished all fifty-one chapters, and I am happy to present them to you now. The story itself I hope will be unexpected and different. :) Enjoy, and don't forget to review! All characters, etc. © Disney

**Part I**

**THE CAPTAIN AND THE BLACKSMITH**

Ships' sails whip about in the early morning breeze as I make my rounds around the perimetre of the fort's battlements. As I round the west most corner I involuntarily look to the Governor's mansion sitting high up on the craggy hill overlooking the bay. I am not sure why I do so since I know that Elizabeth will not be able to see me from such a great distance, although one can always hope. I sigh at that thought and turn away from the house, moving back toward the task at hand; only two more rounds, and I will be relieved by my best mate, Andrew.

My promotion to Commodore in a few weeks time cannot seem to come soon enough, though it throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved . . . marriage to a fine woman, or any woman for that matter. It is not a simple task considering the lonely life of most seafaring men and the ratio of available men to women in Port Royal. However, I cannot help dwelling on one particular fact even as Andrew Gillette's head appears from down below.

Elizabeth Swann turns one and twenty today, a feat that does not go unnoticed by most of the bachelors of a certain age. They all vie for her attention as much as their stations allow. None have, to my knowledge, gone any further than simply dreaming about her. She is an angel to my men; the angel who lives in the great house and is always out of reach. I know it pains them for they have only seen her fair form in passing.

"Captain?" Lieutenant Gillette inquires as he moves toward me.

I look to him, and he gives me a sly grin.

"So, are you going to propose to her today?"

He is my closest friend, a brother to me, and I have told him of my deepening love for Elizabeth before. I clasp my hands behind my back and gaze out at the blue sea spread out before us.

"James?"

I turn toward the lieutenant, look down at the ground and then nod my head.

"I hope to . . . soon," I say, and once again my eyes stray toward the mansion on the hill. "There's the matter of asking her father, and I haven't even considered the proper timing of it."

Andrew chuckles lightly and lays a hand on my shoulder.

"That's the problem, James," he says good-naturedly, "You're too wound up about it. You don't need to wait for the perfect time. Just do it, trust me. That's how Rachel and I ended up together, and didn't everything turn out all right?"

I shrug, unsure of what to say. I do not have the same impulsive nature that Andrew does, and the very idea of asking for Elizabeth's hand twists my stomach in knots of anticipation at the thought of what her reply could be. Andrew gives me a sympathetic look.

"Besides," he says, the humour gone from his voice, "if you wait too long she'll be snatched up before you know it. She's likely to say yes right away to you anyway."

I try to smile, but the muscles around my mouth feel stiff, and I fear it comes across as a grimace. Andrew, his usually perceptive self, has hit upon the very problem. In my heart I cannot help having that doubt that Elizabeth will not be so agreeable to marrying me. Seeing my discomfort, and not wishing to perpetuate it further, Andrew relieves me from duty, and I make my way below with one resolve in mind: to ask the Governor for Elizabeth's hand as soon as possible.

* * *

"Will, hurry up!" I call back over my shoulder, my hair whipping my face.

I sputter and rein my horse in. She whinnies loudly, chomping at the bit, and slows to a light trot just as Will comes thundering up beside me. He grins at me, looking windswept and out of breath. I smile back at him easily.

"That's the fourth time I've beat you William Turner," I say saucily, turning my horse in circles around him, "I'm beginning to think that you're _letting_ me win . . . Do you deny it?"

"I certainly cannot deny that you are the better rider," he says, and I smack him lightly with my reigns as he passes by me in a whirl of earthen colours.

"That's not even a straight answer!" I cry, spurring my ragged horse on after him as he crests the top of the hill and continues onward toward town.

I follow him at a distance for some time watching how he manoeuvres the horse with such ease. Never before have I seen someone look so natural upon a horse, and yet Will looks as though he has done nothing else his entire life. He looks back at me every once in a while, that wild grin upon his face, and I cannot help laughing and smiling back. He slows as he reaches the first of the cobblestone roads leading into town and waits patiently for me to catch up.

Together we dismount and wrap the horses' reigns around our hands as we walk them through town our usual playful banter passing between us. When we are sure there is no one around to see us Will takes my hand in his, entwining his calloused fingers with mine. I shiver at the contact, and he feels it, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

Mr. Brown's blacksmith shop is on the outskirts of town in an alleyway near the waterfront. We stable the horses and enter the rickety wooden building through the back. The bottom floor is completely made up of the shop, and we pass by it without so much as a glance, making our way up the dark staircase to a small landing above. The upstairs apartment has been separated into two rooms, one for Will and one for Mr. Brown. Deep snores slip out from the partially open doorway of Mr. Brown's half, and we step quietly down the narrow corridor and into Will's room.

It is not the first time I have seen Will's room. I do not visit often, not because I do not want to, but because each visit is a stark reminder of just how different our lives are. I voiced this concern to him once, a year or so ago now, and noted that everything dear to him is held in this one room.

"Not everything," he had said seriously, though I could see the light in his eye. It was the first time he had ever made mention to us having a life together under one roof.

We enter his room once again with much less serious thoughts on our minds, though I know it will not take long for our playful banter to turn to deep conversations of other matters. I sit down on the edge of the bed, smoothing down the front of my gown and quickly plaiting my hair in a long braid, as Will putters about at a small stove making us tea.

"How has business been lately?" I ask, when several silent minutes later, Will hands me a cup of steaming brown tea.

He shrugs and sits down in a chair at the window that looks out over the street in front of the shop.

"Not too bad. We've just finished making Captain Norrington's sword this past week."

I must look confused or surprised as Will quickly explains further.

"For his promotion to Commodore, remember?"

I shake my head and take a sip of tea to cover the blunder. How could I forget?

"No, I remember," I say, "I suppose you'll have to deliver it to my father then, won't you?"

Still looking out of the window, Will grins unabashedly at the nuance of an implication in my voice. His easy ability to read me continually amazes me.

"Yes, I will have to deliver it to your father, though I'm afraid I'll be on official business only. It wouldn't exactly be very appropriate for me to be seen cavorting with the Governor's daughter since I am only a lowly blacksmith."

"Not just a blacksmith," I say, and he looks at me, "_My_ blacksmith."

There he goes, grinning again as we fall into silence.

"Really," I continue, my voice now hushed and serious, "if we marry you won't have to be a blacksmith anymore. My father will surely be able to get you some kind of army or navy commission. You won't have to live here either. Of course, we can't live in the mansion, but I'm sure we'll be able to find somewhere suitable, perhaps farther away from town . . ."

I trail off, lost in thought, and Will sighs audibly. We have had this conversation before. In fact, it is one that I am sure every man and woman romantically inclined toward one another has had. So far our conversations on this particular topic have only strayed so far as actually marrying and how many children we would prefer to have; never before have I asked him to give up his only way of life. We are treading onto dangerous ground.

"Elizabeth, you know I can't just give up everything I've ever known to be with you," he says softly but firmly, "I want to, more than anything, but it just doesn't work that way. What if I asked you to give up all your riches and finery and move into this room while I continue my work as a blacksmith."

I remain silent, and this seems to spur him onward, "I doubt your father would be very inclined to let his only daughter do such a thing."

I nod, and he gets up from his chair then and gathers my empty cup before leaning down to press his lips against mine. His hand lingers on my cheek for a moment, and then he moves away to set the cups down. Seeing the upset look on my face he gives me a sympathetic smile.

"Please don't worry yourself over it too much, Elizabeth," he says, "There is still much we need to work out, but I have every ounce of faith that we can do it."

"You're right," I say, and I get up, rolling up the sleeves of my dress, to help him with the washing, "I'm being ridiculous. All we need is a little more time."

Our shoulders bump against one another as we work, and I am content. If we can only convince my father then perhaps everything else will fall into place. Though the room is small and the pay is low I feel as though my love for Will eclipses all of those things, and life would not be so bad if that were my lot.

"We don't have much time," Will says, leaning back against the wooden counter top. I lean against it as well, my arms crossed over my chest. "You see how every man in Port Royal looks at you. I'm not the only one who has his heart set on marrying you."

"Oh, come off it," I say, blushing modestly, as I have honestly never thought that men other than Will look at me in that way, "Now you're the one being ridiculous."

Will shakes his head, dead serious.

"Really, Elizabeth, believe me. I've heard them talk. Norrington is probably my biggest competitor right now. Just be careful. Don't let anyone trick you into something you don't want to commit yourself to."

I nod, feeling slightly bewildered at the idea that the Captain still vies for my attention. It is not as though I have not been aware of it over the past few years, but I did not know it was that strong. The thought of someone else keeping Will and I apart makes me feel slightly defiant. I lean over and kiss Will gently on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together.

"Just a reminder that I won't go down without a fight."

"Of course you won't," he agrees, and I can feel his hand on my back, wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me in close. "I never said you would."

Outside the sun is rising further into the sky, beating down upon the occupants of this island toiling below. Inside I wrap myself further into Will's arms, reveling in the strength and love emanating from his embrace. He breaks away from me after a minute or two, kissing me one last time on the top of my head.

"I should walk you back toward the market. Any longer and I think your father will begin to wonder if you've been abducted by pirates."

I laugh, and Will smiles at his joke as we leave his room and pass Mr. Brown's snores on our way down the stairs. It is a short walk farther into town where the market convenes, and there Will leaves me with naught but a short bow. I would be slighted if not for the fact that there are many people about who would be more than willing to let slip how the Governor's daughter and the local blacksmith were seen flirting in the public square.


	2. A Sobering Fact

**A SOBERING FACT**

It is nearly noon before I get up the courage to ride to the Governor's mansion to seek him out. I do not know what compels me to go. Perhaps it was my talk with Andrew, perhaps I am more ready than I thought, or perhaps it is simply my fear of losing Elizabeth to someone else. Nevertheless, I am ushered into the house by the maid, Estrella, who bids me to sit just outside of the Governor's study.

Unable to sit still for long, I pace the floor, the ticking of the grandfather clock against the wall significantly magnified in my ears. Minutes pass, and already my stomach is twisting itself into knots again as my heart beats somewhere up in my throat. I swallow it down and wonder vaguely where Elizabeth is. The house is unnervingly quiet, and I jump, startled, when the Governor's door suddenly flies open.

"Ah, James, I thought I'd be seeing you soon," the Governor booms from the doorway.

I smile wanly, my nerves completely shaken, and offer my hand, which the Governor shakes vigorously.

"And why is that, sir?" I ask.

"Well, I expect you'd like to see the new sword that's been commissioned for your promotion, wouldn't you? It arrived yesterday, and I've just been admiring it myself. Mr. Brown does some very fine handiwork," the Governor prattles as we step inside his study.

He moves toward his desk where a closed case sits and continues speaking giving me no chance to get a word in edgewise, "or perhaps it was his apprentice Mr. Turner who made it. I was reluctant to settle him here after his brush with piracy, but it seems as though he's turned out to be a respectable citizen. Elizabeth does like to spend an awful lot of time with him. I do have a bit of a soft spot where she's concerned," Governor Swann blinks rapidly, looking up at me suddenly as though he has just remembered my presence in the room, "Ah, James, forgive me. I get on one subject and tend to ramble. So, the sword, is that what you're here for?"

I straighten my coat and bolster my courage.

"No, sir, that's actually not why I'm here."

Governor Swann looks taken aback for a moment but quickly composes himself and folds his hands in front of him on the desktop.

"Well then, what can I do for you James?"

I clear my throat and look down at my shoes for a second, and then I force myself to speak.

"I actually came to inquire about Elizabeth," I begin, and the Governor's eyebrows shoot up until they disappear into his graying wig, "You see, this promotion has brought to my attention a sobering fact. I am still an unmarried man, sir, and I wish to rectify that as soon as possible. As you know, I have admired your daughter for some time, and there would be no greater joy for me than to have her as my wife."

I finish in a rush, and suddenly feel like that awkward boy I once was proclaiming my love to a young woman back in England before I joined the navy. I was not truly in love then, and even now I sometimes doubt my own love for Elizabeth. This is one of those moments as I wait for the Governor's response. He gazes at me intently so that heat rises in my face, and then nods his head with a note of finality.

"James, I know you are a good man, and I could not be any happier to have you as a son-in-law. As it is, Elizabeth does have some say in this matter as well, and I suggest you make a formal proposal to her when you see fit. She has always spoken very highly of you, and I am sure that you will have no trouble when it comes to her accepting."

It feels as though a weight has been lifted from my chest, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. The worst part is over, although a sliver of anxiety does worm its way into my consciousness as a certain blacksmith comes to mind.

"No one else has asked then?" I inquire just to be sure.

The Governor shakes his head, splaying his hands upon the desktop, "You are the first, James. I suggest you propose soon if you wish to be the last as well."

"Understood, sir," I say, placing my hat back on my head and preparing to leave, "I know the perfect time."

"Very good," Governor Swann says, smiling broadly as he stands to shake my hand once more, "I'll see you at the promotion ceremony?"

"Yes, sir."

I take my leave then, slipping out of the front door unnoticed by the maid, and take the steps two at a time. A steward waits at the bottom with my horse in tow, and I mount her in good spirits, unable to shake off the unabashed grin spreading across my face.

**Authoress' Note: **My one review (from doramsm) commands, "Please more", and so I have complied. I do hope doramsm isn't the only one reading this though. 0.o And I apologise for this being so short; I assure you, MUCH longer chapters are ahead. So, review and tell me how you feel about the dual perspectives. Like? Dislike? Confusing? Thanks! All characters, etc. © Disney


	3. Like Lightning

**LIKE LIGHTNING**

The next few weeks pass in a blur as preparations are made for the ceremony. Every moment of the day I am herded from fittings to ceremony rehearsals to my regular duties. In the few minutes of spare time I have each day I spend my time at the jeweler's attempting to procure the perfect ring for Elizabeth. Andrew accompanies me as the sole voice of reason. Although he was at first reluctant he has proven invaluable as he talks me out of purchasing a large and gaudy ring for a simpler one that he insists Elizabeth love. I do not know what I would do without him.

The morning of the ceremony I dress in the new outfit befitting a commodore, and though Anne protests me riding about the countryside in it I decide to go by horseback to the Governor's mansion to meet with Governor Swann before the ceremony. He is still at the breakfast table when I arrive, and I apologise for intruding so early in the morning.

"Nonsense, James," he says and motions for me to sit across from him.

I notice that no other places have been set. Furrowing my brow, I gesture at the empty chair beside me.

"May I inquire where Miss Swann is this morning?"

The Governor chuckles as he looks up at me over the top of an old newspaper.

"You have much still to learn about my daughter, Captain," he says, amusement in his voice, "She is either still asleep or is preparing for the ceremony. Do not expect her to be awake when you awaken every morning. You will understand soon enough."

He chuckles some more, disappearing behind his newspaper momentarily, and I am slightly taken aback. Seeing my discomfort the Governor's laughter quiets, and he smiles at me kindly.

"Don't worry yourself, James," he says, "you'll have plenty of time to discover these things. Right now I'd just worry yourself about the ceremony. We can only hope that it will go smoothly."

I nod. "I'm sure it will, sir."

The Governor suddenly slams the paper down on the table and puts a hand to his forehead dramatically.

"I almost forgot!" he cries, "I've been meaning to ask you, but would you consider dining with us this evening after the ceremony. I know they're going to have a bit of a to do up at the fort, but as soon as you're available Elizabeth and I would like nothing more than to have you here for tea."

"Who would we like to have here for tea?"

My head snaps around at the sound of Elizabeth's voice drifting through the doorway leading into the front hallway. She appears there already dressed in a gown the color of pearl and sea foam. Her hair seems to be half done as she has pulled it to the side in a braid. I stand up suddenly as she enters the room, and her eyes fall on me, surprise gleaming in them.

"Oh, James," she says, a bemused smile on her face, "I had no idea you would be here so early. Look at me . . . I would have done my hair."

"You look beautiful," I say earnestly to assuage her doubts about her appearance so early in the morning.

A slight blush creeps into her cheeks, and she nods her head in appreciation. Then she turns toward her father who began to cough into his napkin.

"Father, are you all right?" she asks, concern in her voice.

He looks up at her innocently, a slight gleam in his eye that perhaps only I am meant to see.

"Oh yes, I'm quite fine dear. As for your previous question, I have just asked the soon-to-be-Commodore to join us for tea this evening. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Elizabeth hesitates for a moment, and my heart skips a beat. The smile on the Governor's face falters slightly, but Elizabeth nods.

"Yes, I don't see why not."

Her father seems content with her answer, but I cannot help dwelling on the slight pause and the nonchalance with which she replied. Perhaps she really will not wish to marry me . . . I banish that thought immediately and focus on the situation at hand. The Governor has taken up his newspaper again as Elizabeth pours herself a cup of tea. She gulps it down with hardly a breath in between, and just as quickly as she appeared she disappears through the door through which she came only moments earlier. As soon as she is gone the Governor speaks again in a sympathetic tone.

"You'll have to forgive her flightiness, James," he says, "I don't know what's gotten into her lately. She's usually so much more talkative. Well anyway, you've seen her. You know what I mean."

"That's all right," I say, "She seemed preoccupied with something. I understand how that is."

The Governor gives me an understanding look, then folds up the newspaper and rings the bell for the maid to clear the china.

"Now then," he says, standing up, "I suppose you'll want to see that sword."

I stand up also, nodding. "Yes, that was my goal for this morning."

"Very well, follow me then."

We leave the breakfast table and adjourn to the front hall. The sword is still in its case exactly where it was left several weeks ago. Governor Swann goes to it, opens the lid, and steps back so that I may look. I peer inside noticing immediately just how finely crafted it is. The tang is nearly the full width of the blade, and I am sure that if I were to pick it up I would be able to balance it on two of my fingers with ease.

Suddenly I notice that the Governor is watching me, and I straighten up and look to him wondering if he has something to say. He bounces on his heels with a barely restrained enthusiasm, nodding at me as though agreeing with something I have said.

"Well?" he asks, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"It's perfect," I say, closing the lid over it once more, "Perfectly made. Do send my compliments to Mr. Brown, would you?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Governor Swann says absently, his eyes still on the case. His eyes dart upward suddenly toward the clock behind his desk, and his eyes grow wide. "Oho! Look at the time. We should be leaving! You'll be taking the carriage with us, James?"

I too look up at the clock and am startled to find that a great deal of time has passed without me even realizing it. I nod hastily, straightening my coat and hat as I follow the Governor back into the entrance hall.

"Really, I am obliged –" I begin before being cut off by the Governor's harried objection.

"Nonsense, James, really. It's nonsensical for you to go on a separate horse when the carriage will do for all of us just fine. Albeit a bit cramped, but fine enough considering the circumstances . . . Elizabeth!"

He comes to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs and calls upward, his hands cupped to his mouth. There is the sound of a slamming door and the click of heels on tile, and then Elizabeth appears hurrying down the steps while trying to attach a pearl earring to one ear. Her hair is no longer loose about her shoulders, but elegantly pulled up and knotted at the back of her head. I stare at her as she makes her way toward us, but she does not seem to notice and sweeps past without a word.

The ride to the fort is completely silent except for the clopping of the horses' hooves and the rustle of the silk of Elizabeth's gown. The air inside is hot and stuffy, and though Elizabeth sits next to me, we do not speak as she stares out of the window. I do not even think she notices when her leg brushes against mine, a brief electrifying shock through the fabric. It is the closest I have ever been to her before, and I feel as though my breath has been sucked away.

**Authoress' Note: **Anyone there? Reviews are like fuel, they keep me posting and writing. :)


	4. Working Up a Nerve

**WORKING UP A NERVE**

When we arrive a crowd of invites have already gathered, the so-called "aristocrats" of Port Royal. Most have some connection to the sugar cane plantations outside of town, though some are military men themselves. Many of my fellow officers are here as well, in uniform, and with them are their wives and children standing nearby. I can only hope to be among them someday. I watch as Elizabeth and the Governor join them while I make my way around the perimetre of the crowd toward the inside of the fort where I will wait before the ceremony. As soon as the door is closed behind me I begin to pace, nervousness beginning to work itself into my hands and knees.

"So, today's the day, James!" a familiar voice cries, and Andrew appears in an open doorway across the room.

I turn toward him, startled.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, bewildered by his sudden appearance, "Not that it's not nice to see you . . ."

"Point taken, James," Andrew says, putting up a hand to keep me from rambling as I am apt to do when I am surprised or nervous, "I thought you might want some company to support you on such an important day."

I look down at my shoes and clasp my hands behind my back. Sometimes I do not know what I would do without this dear friend. Suddenly Andrew's hand is on my shoulder gripping it tightly.

"Are you all right?" he asks, peering at me curiously.

I nod, and then shrug my shoulders half-heartedly.

"I just want this to be over. Not the ceremony, I mean. I . . . I still haven't proposed to Elizabeth yet."

"What!" Andrew exclaims, "I thought you'd have done it by now. I was so looking forward to congratulating you."

"Well, you can congratulate me tomorrow then as I've been invited to dine with the Swanns this evening. I'm hoping to get her alone and ask then."

Andrew suddenly punches me in the arm, not all too lightly, though I know he means it in camaraderie.

"Look at you, 'I'm hoping to get her alone'! You're turning into quite the romantic, James, you really are."

I shake my head and laugh cynically.

"I'm beginning to be too old to be a romantic."

Andrew looks slightly taken aback.

"You're only thirty! If that's old then I must be at Death's door! God, man . . ."

Andrew's dark grumbling is just the spirit I need to lift me out of my perpetual state of nervousness. Laughing, I clap him on the shoulder just as a knock sounds on the door.

"We're ready for you, Captain," someone calls, and the two of us fall silent.

Andrew's eyes meet mine, and he sticks out his hand. I shake it vigorously and nod. Turning toward the door I straighten my coat and make sure my hat is on properly. In my eye's mind I can envision the scene just beyond the door. Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn around. It's Andrew again. He gives me an encouraging smile.

"Good luck, Captain."

One last nod, and I'm moving forward toward the door. My hand pushes on the wood briefly, and then I'm out and walking on an expanse of grey stone. I hear the crowd before I see them, and over and over again I repeat the same mantra in my head. _I know these people. They are my friends, my colleagues, and my family . . ._ Then the crowd comes into view, silent and unmoving. I keep my eyes trained ahead at the Governor bearing the case holding my sword in his arms.

It is a long walk down the aisle of red-coated soldiers, and I am vaguely aware that words are being said, words that I should probably hear. I cannot seem to concentrate on them, however, and instead all of my effort is poured into staying upright, controlling my face, and taking the sword from the Governor's outstretched hands.

I am momentarily surprised by how heavy it feels in my hands, and for a split second I fear that I will drop it. The sword, however, remains in my hands as I take it out of its sheath and display it in the afternoon sun. It glints and shines there, before I sheath it again and take my place at the head of the aisle of navy men. They turn toward me, as one, and salute, a mass of uniform expressions. I can see faces I recognise amongst them, though they remain solid and stoic even when I make eye contact with them.

The ceremony is over minutes later to my relief. The sun beats down mercilessly from overhead, and as beads of sweat slip down my back I take shelter under one of the overhangs where a group of musicians sit playing. My space in the shade is not quiet for long as guest after guest files by to congratulate me on my honor. I have eyes only for one person, and to my disappointment she does not directly seek me out.

Through the course of several hours I watch Elizabeth from afar as she associates with a group of wives and daughters who have come to attend the event. She does not talk much, and when she does I can tell that she is either bored or annoyed from the way her lips turn downward in a slight frown. Several times her attention wanders enough that her eyes float over the crowd, though they never land on me. As the sun continues its assault from overhead Elizabeth grows increasingly uncomfortable. She shifts from foot to foot, fanning herself, and rubbing the back of her neck.

If anyone else understands how much I want these festivities to be over it is she. That dislike for parties and large social gatherings is one thing I know for sure that we both have in common. Toward the latter half of the afternoon, after toasts have been drunk and the food thoroughly eaten, the crowds disperse in an array of horse drawn carriages. I do not see Elizabeth, though her father seeks me out to congratulate me once more.

"A wonderful ceremony, James," he says, "just splendid. We'll see you for tea around six then?"

I nod and clasp his hand mechanically once more. My eyes are trained on the open door of the carriage trying to see if Elizabeth is already within. She must be as the Governor mounts the steps, folds them, and closes the door behind him. I watch the carriage until it is out of sight, and then go in search of my own horse having decided that it would be best that I not propose to Miss Swann wearing an outfit more suitable for military conquest. Though I suppose one self could call this proposal a conquest of another kind . . .

**Authoress' Note:** I'm still not getting much feedback on this story, but perhaps that's because there isn't much action yet. Anyway, thanks to Beth for reviewing the last chapter. It was much appreciated. As always, thanks for reading! Please press the button below to review. All characters, etc. © Disney


	5. A Beautiful Letdown

**A BEAUTIFUL LETDOWN**

"Ah, you're here, James," Governor Swann says as he peers around the corner at the sound of my approaching footsteps in the corridor, "Do sit down. Estrella will have the food out any minute."

He gestures toward the chair to his immediate right, right across from the only other set of place settings at the table to his left. I assume they are for Elizabeth, but she is not in the room. The Governor drums his fingers on the table in an attempt to mask the uncomfortable silence falling on the room.

"Elizabeth usually isn't this late you know," he says, as an attempt at conversation, and I merely nod in response, my hand curling around the velvet-covered box in my pocket.

"She said she'd be out for only a minute, and it seems as though she's gone off entirely, " the Governor continues in a cheerful voice, though I notice his eyes are trained on the French doors leading to the adjacent corridor.

"I'm sure she's all right, sir," I offer, and thankfully I need not say more as a welcome distraction arrives in the form of the household maid bearing the evening's meal on silver platters.

"Ah, yes, here's the food then," the Governor says, tearing his eyes away from the door as Estrella sets a laden plate in front of him, "Thank you, Estrella."

Estrella bobs a curtsy and serves me before hurrying from the room. Governor Swann follows her with his eyes, and then spears a piece of fish from his plate.

"She's awfully flighty that Estrella. I don't know what's gotten into her lately either. You know, if it's not one thing it's another in this house. Elizabeth can be quite a handful sometimes. She's my only daughter, and I love her dearly, but . . ."

The Governor prattles on in much the same manner for the next ten minutes hardly taking a moment to breathe or even eat. I allow my mind to wander while making sure to keep one ear trained on the conversation in order to respond appropriately. It is not that I do not like Elizabeth's father or that I do not find him an engaging person, quite the contrary. He has been more of a father to me for many years than my own father has been. It is just, at this moment, I can think of nothing else than the terrifying idea that Elizabeth should not show up at all.

"Oh, Elizabeth!"

I whip my head around, startled from my reverie by the sound of the Governor's raised voice. Elizabeth stands in the doorway for a moment, surveying the scene, and then she walks briskly down the long table and takes her seat.

"Elizabeth, where have you been? I thought you said you were only going out for a moment."

She brushes a strand of loose hair behind her ear, keeping her eyes on the plate in front of her. She glances up at me briefly, and then lowers her eyes again before responding.

"I was out . . . longer than I expected."

"Hmph, well . . ."

Her father gives her a hard stare, but he is unable to stay angry with her for very long, and he quickly shifts onto another topic. I continue to watch her steadily for a few minutes, noticing the looseness of her hair and the smudge of dirt on one cheek. Perhaps she knows I am staring as she rubs at it absently with her thumb. She picks at her food for the remainder of the meal, and when the china is finally cleared away the three of us make our way into the sitting room for drinks.

"Some port for you, James?" the Governor asks as he pulls out a dusty bottle from a cabinet in the corner.

I shake my head, knowing that I cannot trust myself with drink at this moment when it is imperative that I remain sober.

"I'll just have tea, thanks."

The Governor looks slightly crestfallen.

"I'll just have to save it for another time then, eh?"

We arrange ourselves in the cramped sitting area as Estrella pours tea for everyone, and I take mine with slightly trembling hands. We sit in silence, each sipping at his or her cup, not really looking for anything to talk about. The Governor, I believe, can sense what I am about to do, and he downs his tea more quickly than Elizabeth or myself. Not having much of a stomach for it, I set my teacup down, its clink against the table breaking the silence. The Governor's eyes are intensely fixed upon me as I stand up then, pulling down my waistcoat as I do so.

"Sir, do you think I could have a moment with your daughter alone?" I ask, and his face crumples into a look of sheer happiness.

Setting his teacup down with a note of enthusiasm, he stands up, gives his bewildered daughter an encouraging smile, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth does not meet my gaze as I look down on her, slipping my hand into my pocket to retrieve the velvet-covered box. The teacup in her hand shakes slightly, and she sets it down carefully. I clear my throat as softly as I can so as not to startle her, but she jumps anyway and turns her face to me.

"My promotion today has thrown into sharp relief that which I have not achieved," I begin, and Elizabeth shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "marriage . . . and I am sure you have long known my admiration for you. I am not a man of many words, but I have not made attempts to conceal it. Therefore I wonder, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

In one fluid motion I open the box and slide down to one knee. Elizabeth stands up hastily, snapping her eyes away from me, and knocking over her teacup in the process. It rolls off the table and shatters with a sickening _crunch_ on the wood floor. The room is stiflingly silent. Elizabeth takes a deep breath and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear compulsively.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" she asks, her voice oddly high-pitched and strained, "I must speak with my father."

Without waiting for an answer she sweeps out of the room leaving me kneeling awkwardly on the floor. As soon as the door shuts behind her I stand up and place the open velvet box on an empty chair. Estrella comes in through a side door, and without a word she sweeps up the broken china from the floor. Suddenly, raised voices leak through the closed door, and we freeze, listening intently.

"Father, how could you?" Elizabeth cries, her voice wavering on the verge of angry tears.

"He asked, Elizabeth," the Governor says simply, and I have never heard his voice sound so cold before, "He asked, and considering there are no other prospects I thought it best to give my consent. I was only thinking of you."

"No other prospects?" Elizabeth hisses, "What about William Turner? I thought you knew!"

Governor Swann's voice is suddenly surprised, incredulous even.

"You are engaged to him then?"

There is a heavy silence, and then her father speaks again, "I thought not, and this is your only other option. For propriety's sake, if not your own."

"I don't give a damn about propriety," Elizabeth retorts.

The Governor lowers his voice then, and I strain to hear what is being said without moving from where I stand rooted in the middle of the sitting room.

"I did not raise you to act in such a manner, Elizabeth," the Governor snarls, danger in his voice, "I am your father, and as such, you will do as I say in this matter. I will not have you become the wife of a blacksmith, and that is final. You will either go back in that room and accept the Commodore's proposal or I will."

There is what feels like an eternity of silence, and then the door opens slightly. Estrella hastily wipes up the last of the spilled tea and bustles out of the room, leaving me alone again. The Governor appears from around the corner and shuts the door behind him. He heaves a great sigh and looks at me sadly, rubbing his temples.

"She will marry you, James," he says finally, "I'll see to that."

I shake my head, already sick with the entire notion of it all.

"If she really does not want to . . ." I begin, but Governor Swann cuts me off.

"No, James," he says firmly, holding up his hands to stop me, "I have been lenient with Elizabeth her whole life. I have been flexible with her on all decisions that pertain to her, but in this one I am afraid that my decision is absolute. I will not have her run off with a blacksmith who can hardly pay to provide for himself. It's illogical."

I nod, swallowing hard. The Governor motions toward the door, and I follow him out.

"I'm sorry it didn't go as planned," he says, and all I can do is nod once again as we make our way toward the front door. I shake hands with him once more, feeling sick and dizzy and foolish all at once, and then I am outside in the cool night air.

The light of a guttering candle flickers in one of the rooms above, the room with the balcony. I look to it, barely making out the glimpse of a silhouette in the window. I take the steps down to the drive slowly and am surprised to find my horse already waiting. Numb, I clamber on and ride out through the gates that are clanged shut behind me. All the while I think of nothing; not of Elizabeth, or William Turner, or the ring in the velvet box left forgotten in the darkened sitting room.

**Authoress' Note: **Yay for reviews! Dear readers, you have no idea how happy thoughtful and lovely reviews make me. A special shout out to Nurr, ValerieNorrington, and Kel-bel C for giving me some brilliant feedback – especially about the dual perspective – as it is much appreciated! ValerieNorrington, this chapter was for you. I hope Norrie was distraught enough for you. :)


	6. The Art of Holding On

**THE ART OF HOLDING ON**

Infuriated and tearful after my heated discussion with Father, I storm up to my room and slam the door shut behind me. Having left the task of accepting the Commodore's proposal to him, I light a candle and pace my room until I hear the front door close. As discreetly as I can I peek through the veneer curtains hanging across the window, following James Norrington as he makes his way down the steps and across the gravel drive where the steward waits with James' horse in tow.

"Elizabeth!"

I tear my eyes from his retreating figure, cross the room to the door, open it, and call down to my father below.

"Yes?"

"Come down here," he says sternly, and though I wish to do nothing more than cross the corridor to an empty bedroom and escape through one of the windows, I walk back downstairs anyway.

Father comes into view as soon as I exit the dark corridor and step out onto the landing of the stairs. I take them slowly, his eyes furious as they bore into me. He takes my wrist roughly, as soon as I am near enough and thrusts something into my hand. I look down and am surprised to find that it is the velvet box containing the ring.

"You will wear it," he says simply, and waits patiently as I take it resentfully from the box and slip it onto the ring finger of my left hand.

As he turns to walk away I stop him, reaching out with a question.

"That's it?"

He turns back, studying me as though he has never seen me before. I know that look well. He gives me a curt nod.

"That is all, Elizabeth, for now."

He pulls away then and slips back into his study where it is dark and quiet, and where he cannot be bothered by the outside world. I do not storm back up the stairs right away but take my time whiling away every minute that I can until the entire household is silent and slumbering.

It is late by then, well past midnight from the way Father's snores sound from farther down the corridor. The servants will be safely tucked away in their sleeping quarters away from the house, and so I throw back the covers, still fully clothed, and steal out of my room undetected. I know the doors of the house to be locked at this time of night, but the windows will open from the inside easily enough.

I choose one of the back guest rooms on the ground floor that are never in use. The door creaks slightly with disuse as I push it open, and my breath catches in my throat for a moment as I listen intently for any sounds of life stirring in the house. Quietly, I close it behind me, and pick my way through the rows of unused furniture covered in white cloth. There are two windows, and I open the one nearest to me, carefully pushing it up centimetre-by-centimetre so as not to make any loud or sudden noises. A draft whips through the room, blowing dust into my face. I hold my breath to muffle a sneeze, and then swing my leg out of the window. Swinging the other leg out behind it, I push myself out with my arms, and drop to the ground.

Hiking up my skirts I run along the back of the house until I reach the end. Then I take a left and follow the side of the house up to the front. Under cover of darkness it is simple enough to slip through the gates and make my way along the main road. It is not the first time I have walked upon this road alone, it is simply the first time I have ever attempted it at night. Every noise seems magnified in my ears as I follow the road wending its way down the hillside. The lightened fort shines forth in the distance like a beacon, and I use it as a guide.

When I am further into town I become more careful, slipping in and out of the shadows and making sure not to walk down dark alleyways. There are soldiers on patrol near the fort, but as I become farther away I see less of them. The only sign of life out toward the blacksmith's shop is the loud talk and music coming from a nearby pub. There are a few women outside, scantily clad and strolling about, but I manage to walk by unnoticed. The blacksmith's shop is not much farther.

I go in the back way, making my way up the stairs as quietly as I can so as not to awaken Mr. Brown, although he is a notoriously heavy drinker and sleeper, so I seriously doubt whether he will give me much trouble. I search for Will's door by feeling along the inside passage until my fingers slip against the uneven groove in the wood's working. At first I intend to barge inside, but at this hour Will is probably asleep. Instead I raise my hand and knock lightly a few times.

All remains silent, and so I raise my hand to knock again. The third time I hear a rustle of bed linens and the light pad of feet against the floor. A shimmer of light appears under the door, and it is cracked open slightly. One of Will's brown eyes, shining in the candlelight, blinks at me with surprise, and then the door opens fully, and I quickly step inside. Will sets the candle down on his bedside table and stands off to the side by the window, studying me with a look of incredulity on his face.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper so as not to wake Mr. Brown.

I cross my arms over my chest, and suddenly realise just how ridiculous it is for me to be here. I could have just as easily waited till morning to take a carriage directly here, but at the time this felt like the best option. Will continues to stare, waiting for me to reply, and I take a deep breath.

"I'm going to be married."

The words slip out involuntarily, like a hiss of steam from a tea kettle. There is a note of finality to them that hangs heavily in the air between us. Will licks his lips, his arms dangling limply by his sides. I am only vaguely aware of his state of near undress, but now does not seem the time to think of such things. Will swallows hard.

"To who?"

It seems like such an obvious answer, so I shrug.

"James Norrington."

Suddenly the very weight of the situation comes crashing in on me all at once, and the painful lump in my throat that I have tried so hard to swallow down makes my eyes water. The tears pressing at the backs of my eyes flow unchecked down my face, and I launch myself into Will's arms, whether they are willing or not. He is stiff at first, unsure of what to do, but then he softens and pulls me to him, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I'm so, so sorry, Will. What will we do? What can we do?"

I heave a great shuddering sigh and bury my face in his chest once more. He strokes my hair, silent as ever, though I can feel that he is thinking as surely as I can feel the beating of his heart against my ear.

"Do not give up hope," he whispers, "We have a few months yet before the wedding. Preparations must still be made. In the meantime I will see what preparations I can make of my own."

I look up at him in disbelief, and he meets my gaze, unwavering.

"You mean we'll _leave_?"

"Your father seems set in his ways, and I don't see how we could be married otherwise."

I nod my head to confirm this assumption.

"He won't have it any other way," I say, "but I certainly hope we won't have to leave. My entire life is here, Will."

"We'll start a new one though, won't we?"

His plan does not take much thought. He is right after all. My father is my only family left, but if I were to go with Will, and marry him, then we would create our own family. So I nod once again feeling quite unable to voice these sentiments aloud. He seems to take my silence for hesitance though and pushes me away from him slightly so that he can look me in the eyes.

"We still have time though, as I said. Don't think too much on it right now."

"I won't," I whisper, and then, standing on tiptoe, I place a gentle kiss against his lips.

When our eyes open after a few seconds, Will loosens his grip on my arms and shakes his head to prevent me from kissing him again.

"Elizabeth," he says, a warning tone in his voice.

I back away, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. When he looks at me again his eyes have softened, and I give him a faint smile.

"Can I stay with you a while longer?" I ask quietly, and he simply nods, reaching out one hand to me in response.

I take it, the calluses on his skin rough against my smooth fingers. Together we lay upon his bed, incredibly close, closer than we have ever been to one another before. I curl up on my side next to him, placing my forehead against his shoulder. We lay in silence, a silence as heavy as our unspoken desires and as lofty as the hope that fills my chest with the very air I breathe. I have never had such a moment of utter tranquility before this one where the simple warmth radiating from William, enshrouding me like a cloud, is enough to quell my anxiety for the future.

After some time, perhaps several hours or so later, Will shakes my shoulder, gently awakening me from a sleep I had not been aware I'd fallen into. Tenderly, he helps me to stand, supporting me with one arm about my waist.

"You must go now, Elizabeth," he says into my ear, "while it is still dark. I will escort you as far as the market square. From there it will only be a short walk. You will be safe."

The cool night air hits me like a splash of ice water upon my face, and I blink furiously to keep tears from stinging my eyes. Fully awake now, I am able to match my stride with Will's so that we will make better time. The market square seems to come too soon, and we stand in the shadow of the eaves of a storefront for one last moment together, as it will be some time before I am able to see him again. He holds my hands to his lips and kisses the knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I will send word to you about our situation as soon as I can. Do not visit me until then. It will be too difficult with the Commodore constantly about. Do you understand?"

I nod, setting my face bravely, and swallowing my tears down again. He smiles at me, a smile that reaches his eyes, and I smile back, leaning in to give him one last kiss.

"Keep faith," he whispers against my lips.

Then we separate, his words ringing in my ears like a mantra. Numbly, I make my way back through the darkness that seems to be burning away with each passing moment. Before long a golden sliver of sun reaches out from beyond the horizon, and I hurry my footsteps until the mansion comes into view. My feet throb with fatigue as I skirt the side of the house and make my way to the open window. With the sun rising fast behind me I have precious few moments to flit inside unnoticed.

Tenderly, I ease my legs in through the window first, and then slide the rest of my body in after. The window slides down easily, and I dart from the room and up the stairs as hastily and as quietly as I can. The corridors are still in pitch darkness where the light of the coming day has not yet reached its rays. I am back in my room before I know it, my back pressed against the door, breathing deeply with relief.

I sit down on my bed and unlace my shoes before pulling them off gently one by one. My toes feel free after being pinched for so many hours, though the backs of my heels are raw from scraping against the inside of my shoe. An angry blister festers at my touch, and I give a slight hiss of breath before retracting my hand. I will have to be careful about what shoes I wear for a while so as not to arouse the attention of others.

With my shoes put away I suddenly feel tired again, but I know I cannot sleep just yet. Estrella will knock on my door soon, and my tiredness would seem out of place. Instead, I pull off my gown from the night before and put on a fresh nightgown before settling under the covers. I close my eyes for merely a second, and already I am asleep.

**Authoress' Note:** Writing this chapter almost, _almost_ made me fall in love with Willabeth again. I'd like to think this bit is some of my best writing so far. :) For those of you who commented on the portrayal of Elizabeth's character – What do you think now? I went back and watched all of the PotC movies and reworked this several times to see if I could recapture her voice. So, review and let me know what you think. By the way, while editing I realised that I don't know the difference between further and farther. Help?


	7. The Wake

**THE WAKE**

It is not hard for me to avoid the Swann household for a week following my disastrous proposal to Elizabeth. The Governor does not seek me out, nor I him, and I go about my week as I normally would . . . with a few exceptions. The engagement itself has not become wide spread news. In fact, it is not really news at all considering no one is discussing it. This suits me just as well, as an engagement has always seemed to me to be a private matter shared with only close friends and family at the proper time, hence the exceptions to my normal week.

There is always the problem of telling ones parents, especially when they seem to be a world away. This problem is compounded by the fact that I am not the world's most articulate man even when in regards to those whom I love. An idea for attempt number eleven comes to me while sitting at my desk at the fort going over orders from higher ups. Hurriedly, I pull out a new sheet of parchment, dip my quill in the inkbottle, and begin to write.

_24 May_

_Mother and Father,_

_I am writing for two reasons. First, I have not heard from you in some time, and I wish to inquire after your health. I sincerely hope that London is treating both of you well. Everything is fine here. The weather is fair, as usual, and I am glad to be spending it here in Port Royal rather than out at sea. The second reason for my letter is to inform you of a certain event that has occurred within the past week. I have become engaged to Governor Swann's daughter, Miss Elizabeth Swann. There are no plans for the wedding at this moment, though I expect preparations will begin shortly. I hope you will consider coming for the wedding. I await your reply._

_Your son,_

_James_

I skim the letter once more, fold it up, and seal it before placing it on a stack to be sent to London. Suddenly, there is a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opens, and to my surprise the Governor enters looking distracted and worried. He gives a slight nod in my general direction and automatically seats himself opposite me.

"Governor Swann," I say, surprise in my voice, "I was not expecting you. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong, my dear boy, nothing is wrong at all," the Governor responds, though he remains distracted. "I merely came to ask whether you have any plans."

"Plans?"

The Governor nods impatiently at my confusion. "Yes, plans for announcing the engagement. If not, I insist on throwing a small party. It will be no trouble at all really. I was already planning a ball of sorts for the arrival of some dignitaries from London, but I think it will be the perfect opportunity for an announcement, don't you?"

I nod my head slowly, quite unsure of what I could be getting myself into.

"I am not one for going to balls, sir," I say quietly, "but since you are so kindly hosting it, I do not see how I can refuse."

The Governor seems mightily pleased with himself as he responds, "No, no, you cannot refuse. Elizabeth has already agreed to it anyway. Will two weeks do nicely? That's when these notables are supposed to arrive anyway. Invite whom you would like of course. I'm sure you'll have many of your navy friends you'd like to share the news with."

Still speaking the Governor stands up and grasps my hand before backing out of the room with a final flourish of his hand. He is in such a hurry that he does not even wait to hear my response, although it is not to the contrary, so I suppose such an answer would have been futile anyway.

Later that evening I meet Andrew down at the pub close to the fort. It is raucously loud when I arrive, which makes me feel all the better as there will be no chance of us being overheard. Andrew is already there when I arrive, nursing a pint at a table in the corner. It is our usual haunt, and as soon as I have my ale in hand I join him. He raises his mug to me as I sit down, and I do the same in response.

"It seems I owe you some congratulations, James," he says, giving me a knowing smile.

My heart sinks, and frantically I wonder how on earth he could possibly know already. I take a sip of ale to hide my shock and ask casually, "Congratulations for what?"

Andrew laughs heartily, clapping me on the back, and though I smile I cannot join in his laughter knowing what I know.

"Congratulations on making it through your first week as Commodore, James," he finally says, and now it is my turn to laugh. "What did you think I was on about?"

"To tell you the truth, Andrew," I say, immensely happier than I had been only seconds before, "I thought you were on about something completely different."

"What's that?"

Now that I've piqued his interest there is no going back. I look down at the half empty mug in front of me, willing myself to just go out and say it. Discreetly, I do a quick sweep of the area with my eyes to make sure only he is listening. Assured of our solitude I look down at my mug, raise it halfway to my lips, and mumble, "Elizabeth and I are engaged."

Andrew's eyes go wide and his mug stops halfway on its journey toward his lips. He stares at me for a minute, and then lowers his ale carefully so as not to slosh it down his front.

"When did this happen?" he asks, his incredulous voice a whisper.

For some reason I feel as though, at this moment, I am the local gossip speaking in hushed tones with her gossipers in the market square of some secret affair or whatever such women speak of.

"After the promotion ceremony last week. I went over to the Governor's mansion and thought it the appropriate time to go through with it. Unfortunately, not everything went according to plan."

"She rejected you."

I cuff Andrew hard on the arm, and he yelps, rubbing his shoulder.

"Bloody hell!"

"You didn't have to be so blunt about it," I say heatedly.

Andrew brings his hands up in front of his chest as though guilty of something.

"Sorry, mate, really, but sometimes it's best not to beat around the bush, if you know what I mean."

I nod reluctantly.

"Aye, you're right. It doesn't matter anyway. We're going to be married if it's the last thing Governor Swann does."

Andrew makes a sympathetic noise and takes another swig of his drink.

"He's forcing her then, is he?"

I lower my head dejectedly, avoiding his eyes, and grumble, "I'd rather not be reminded."

We fall into silence then, each wrapped in our own thoughts. I mentally berate myself for being so ungrateful for the way the situation has played out. After all, I love Elizabeth, and though she does not love me, as I once so naively thought, at least I had some choice in the marriage, some free will. That is more than she can say. Suddenly, I am vaguely aware of Andrew watching me.

"We don't have a wedding date set," I say, "but the Governor is planning a ball in two weeks. It's not specifically for us, but he thought it would be the best time to make the announcement. I want you to be there, and Rachel as well."

"Of course, James," Andrew says with such feeling that I cannot help feeling a swell of pride at having such a steadfast friend.

**Authoress' Note:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so consistently! My question concerning further vs farther has been cleared up, and I hope I won't make that mistake in my writing again. Rickashay – it's wonderful to see you again!


	8. Can't Slow Down

**CAN'T SLOW DOWN**

It is amazing how quickly time seems to pass without you wanting it to; how it slips out of your grasp like grains of sand in an hourglass. I have neither seen nor heard from William in the time that has passed, and I am worried. Perhaps I am simply being impatient, as I have been known to be, however, I cannot help wondering whether everything will really work out just as Will said it would. The promise he made me, the mantra I have kept during these past days, seems to be wearing thin. Every time I think of it, it sounds all the more ridiculous, all the more naïve.

I finish lacing up my gown in the front and sit down on the bed to roll up my stockings. The clock hanging on the wall above the bedside table shows me that the ball will start any minute, but I take no care to hurry.

"You've decided to be fashionably late I see," Estrella says as she opens the door and shuts it behind her.

I sit down at the vanity, tucking my skirts underneath me as Estrella takes up a comb and begins working at my hair with it.

"It's not that formal a ball anyway," I say, tossing my hair lightly over my shoulders and reveling in the feeling of the slight tugging at my scalp. "I'm sure people will be arriving and leaving as they choose."

Estrella licks her lips and applies the hot tongs to my hair so that it crackles with heat. She rolls it up until it is dangerously close my head but not close enough to burn my skin. She waits for a beat, one hand on her hip, and then carefully pulls the tong out again. A perfect ringlet appears in its stead, and Estrella fluffs it with one hand before starting on another section of hair.

"What about the Commodore then?" she says finally, her eyes remaining fixed on the back of my head, "You're sure you should keep him waiting?" 

I shrug and almost catch my bare shoulder against the blistering iron tong as Estrella pulls it from my hair.

"Any woman would be happy enough to marry him, Miss," Estrella continues, and I can hear the envy in her voice, although it does not linger for very long. "He's a fine catch, if it's not too bold to say. He's so dashing and handsome . . ."

"And boring and stiff," I say loudly, drowning her out.

Estrella frowns and actually looks me in the eyes. For a moment it looks as though I have insulted her brother and not a Commodore whom she has never spoken to in her life.

"You've never even been within a rooms span of him," I point out, arching one eyebrow at her in the mirror.

Estrella reddens slightly, but continues on with her work with renewed vigour as though hoping she will be able to avoid a response.

"That hardly matters, Miss," she says rather tersely, while giving my hair an extra, unneeded wrench. "I've seen enough of him from afar to gain knowledge of what his character is, and I think you should be a trite more grateful to him for marrying you."

Sudden anger burns at the back of my throat, and I am sure that Estrella can see the flash of it in my eyes.

"That _is_ too bold," I snarl, crossing my arms over my chest, "You would do well to hold your tongue."

Estrella's cheeks brighten further, and she breaks her eyes away from my heated gaze. We sit in tense silence, fuming, while she finishes my hair by twisting the curls up and pinning them toward the back of my head. Each yanking stroke of the brush and pull of my hair brings tears to my eyes, but I blink them away so as not to give Estrella any satisfaction.

As soon as she is finished she leaves the room hastily, and I wait a few more seconds, pretending to look at myself in the mirror. Then, I exit the room as well, pausing for a second in the corridor to listen. The lilting sounds of a string quartet reach my ears along with the rumbling of dozens of voices. A crowd has gathered in the entrance hall, and I remain well hidden as I attempt to make out my father in the group from my place on the landing above.

I find him quickly as he is not a hard man to spot. He greets guests one by one as they enter through the front door, shaking hands with the gentlemen and kissing the hands of the ladies. Some fatherly intuition alerts him to my presence, and seemingly by chance he finds me watching him. For a split second I am afraid that he will make an announcement of my arrival, but instead he nods. Gratefully, I descend the stairs and slip through the crowd of people making their way to other parts of the house. In only a few moments I am by my father's side.

"Papa," I say quietly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

He jumps and turns toward me, surprise etched on his face. His eyes soften as he smiles upon seeing me.

"Elizabeth, you look lovely," he says, clasping my hand, "I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long. It seems I have my answer."

I say nothing, because I do not have the heart to bring up the old argument that has pervaded our conversations for the past two weeks. The very mention of the Commodore seems to set both of us into an uproar, and so we have remained mum on the subject for several days. He is well aware, however, that if I were not the daughter of the host I most assuredly would not have attended this ball if I had not been forced to.

"The Commodore's just arrived," Father says, and I shake my head to come out of my reverie. "I'm sure he will be very happy to see you."

Once again I have no words to express myself on this subject, and so I follow along behind him as we wend our way through the ball goers and into a room that is even more packed than the first. A fire roars in the hearth intensifying the heat that I can already feel upon my bare skin. It would be unbearable if not for the partially opened windows on one side of the room. It is there that we find James Norrington lost in conversation with an elderly couple, both of whom are of the same age as my father. He clears his throat to announce our arrival, and James turns abruptly.

"Oh, Miss Swann," he stammers, and I follow his eyes as they move from my face, all the way down to the hem of my gown, and back up again. It is not a lustful look, but I cannot help feeling uncomfortable.

"Sorry to intrude," Father says jovially, bouncing back and forth upon the balls of his feet, "I just thought I'd deliver Elizabeth to you so that she can be around . . . when you need her."

He gives a hearty wink, and James' nervous smile brightens into a more confident one. His hand suddenly grips my upper arm and steers me away from the older couple. As soon as we are out of eyeshot I shrug his hand off, and he pulls it away quickly, as though he has been burned.

"I can walk well enough on my own, thank you," I hiss.

"Sorry," he says, and suddenly I realize just how nervous he is. Even as he speaks his voice shakes, and his eyes dart to the couple that he had been talking with moments earlier. I soften slightly and lower my voice.

"That's all right. What's the matter with you?"

My voice sounds harsher than I had intended it to be, but it cannot be helped and what has been said is said. James swallows hard, and then laughs dryly.

"I suppose I'm just nervous about the announcement," he says finally, looking me in the eyes.

I avoid his gaze by looking out at the crowd and respond, "Why ever should you be? You know these people."

"Yes, well, you see that couple over there who I was just talking to?" he asks and jerks his head back at them.

I crane my neck slightly to get a better look, and yes, they are still in the same place by the window, gazing out at the throng with stern faces. The woman looks particularly severe, while her husband simply stares stoically off into space.

"Yes, what about them?"

James takes a deep breath before answering. "Those are my parents," he says, "and I'd like you to meet them."

**Authoress' Note: **Dun dun dun. Goodness, I hate cliffhangers. Sorry for the less than speedy update! I just bought a collection of Tolkien short stories and poems and have found myself thoroughly occupied. ;) All characters, etc. © Disney


	9. A Family Affair

**A FAMILY AFFAIR**

There is a beat of silence between us.

"What? I thought you said they weren't coming for some time- till the wedding! I can't meet your parents, not now!"

James gives me a sympathetic look that I instantly loathe and shoots another glance back at his parents.

"It will only take a few minutes," he reassures me, and for a moment I catch the twitch of his hand moving toward my arm before he pulls it away, "and then I'd like you to meet someone else, a close friend of mine."

Newly infuriated by this turn of events that have been sprung upon me I set my lips in a stiff line.

"What, am I? A new pet to be paraded in front of people?" I seethe, making no effort to conceal the indignity I feel at this moment.

James' eyes grow wide, and he reaches out to me again, placing his hands on my upper arms. His fingers grip them gently as though to calm me.

"No, no, that is the last thing I would like you to feel. You will be my wife, and I merely wish for you to have some connections to the people I intimately know."

He is so despicably selfless that I can think of nothing to say, so I shut my mouth and grit my teeth as he leads the way across the room to his waiting parents. I observe them both as we draw nearer so that, perhaps, I will not make a complete fool out of myself.

James' father wears a similar outfit to his son, and I conclude that he must be a navy man himself. His wife is slightly taller than he is, and her face looks as though it were molded from wax. She is dressed fashionably for the occasion, although for Port Royal she has overdressed. This does not seem to bother her in the slightest as she stares down every person who looks her way with an icy glare.

As soon as we arrive in her line of sight, a tight simper of a smile graces Mrs. Norrington's lips as she looks me up and down as though appraising me for sale. Her husband merely glances at me, and then returns to stoically watching the rest of the party. In some small way he seems rather bored with the situation.

"Father, Mother, may I present my fiancé, the Governor's daughter, Miss Elizabeth Swann."

They nod at me stiffly as I give a curtsy, lowering my eyes demurely to the floor, as I am sure they would expect me to do. I will not slip and give them the satisfaction of catching me at my worst. James shifts uncomfortably next to me as I raise my eyes from the floor.

"Miss Swann, this is my mother and father."

"How do you do?" I say calmly, meeting their steady gaze.

Mrs. Norrington frowns and gives James a suddenly stern look.

"That's Lord and Lady Norrington to you," she says severely, looking down upon me once again.

I blush fiercely, heat rising in my chest, and I clench my fists behind my back.

"Mother, really-"

_Lady_ Norrington silences her son with another look, and he seems to wither before her.

"Tush, James," she snaps, "I will be called such until you are married. Proper titles do matter, my dear, surely you know that. Your subordinates do not call you James, do they?"

James shakes his head, obviously unhappy with how the meeting has started off.

"I thought not," his mother says tersely, and then she softens her tone enough to sound almost remotely motherly, "Now then, why don't you and your father go along and have a chat, hmm? I have much to discuss with your Miss Swann about the wedding. We'll want to begin planning immediately."

This sudden pronouncement causes my stomach to turn over abruptly, and I clutch at it as it twists itself into anxious knots. Planning for a wedding I do not want to have is something I certainly do not want to do at this exact moment. In fact, it is the last thing I would like to do at this moment, other than be left alone with Lady Norrington. James meets my eyes sending me another look of sympathy while I send him a look of pleading. It is to no avail. In a matter of seconds, Lady Norrington and I are alone.

"I know this has all been rather sudden," she says, putting a wrinkled hand on my arm as she gives me a wane smile. She could almost be seen as caring if it were not for the coldness radiating from her eyes. "But have you put together any wedding plans yet?"

"No ma'am, I have not," I say quietly, "Your son and I have not spoken much about the wedding actually."

Somehow I meant to convey my disillusionment with the marriage to her son, but instead I think I came across as a weary soon-to-be-bride who wants to see more of her husband-to-be.

"Oh yes, James is such a busy man. He's always put work and duty first, and I thought for some time that he would never marry. It's very lucky you came along or else I would have had to find him a girl myself."

_If only you would have_, I think to myself. It is a vain wish, but I do not take it back. There is some small part of me that does perhaps pity James Norrington, but another part of me has no pity at all and blames him for the situation I have been forced into. Lady Norrington _tuts_ to herself, and I break out of my reverie.

"No need to dwell on the past," she says and moves her hand as though to swipe away all the past memories from both of us, "we have a wedding to plan. When would you like to begin? We can start as soon as you like."

She looks at me eagerly, expectantly, and when I do not reply right away her face falls slightly, and then she becomes suddenly agitated.

"Never mind then," she says, waving her hand at me noncommittally, "Whenever James is finished at the fort I shall bring him over to get started. Monday at the earliest."

She does not even wait for my reply, but instead cranes her neck over the crowd and motions at her husband who seems to be struggling to put together a conversation with his son.

"Robert, oh Robert!" she calls, and his attention is finally caught, "I've just seen Lady Middleton pass by. We must see her."

She turns toward me briefly and gives an odd nod of her head.

"Lovely to meet you Miss Swann."

"And you-" I begin, but she has already swept away into the other room with her doltish husband trailing behind.

James comes up beside me, and I look up at him with a scowl on my face.

"That went well," I say sarcastically.

James shakes his head, and once again looks torn between something.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "My mother can be somewhat . . . overwhelming."

"That's an understatement," I whisper under my breath, but James hears anyway. He winces as though the words are a slap in the face.

"They won't stay after the wedding, I promise. My father has left some business in London, and they won't be able to stay away for long."

He watches me for a moment, as though studying me, or perhaps he is simply waiting for an answer. When I give none, he offers his arm to me. I refuse to take it, and so he lowers it dejectedly.

"There are only two other people I would wish for you to meet before I make the announcement. Andrew Gillette is my best mate, and we've served together for a long time. He and his wife Rachel live outside of Port Royal."

For some reason, as I follow in James' wake through the crowd, I cannot help feeling some odd curiosity at meeting the Gillette's. I know nothing about them, and just the fact that they are close to James and I in age is enough to make me interested.

We come upon them in the room set aside for dancing. The furniture has been pushed up against the walls to create enough space for quadrilles and country jigs from England. There are several couples upon the dance floor, and it is obvious that the Gillette's are among them from the way James scans the faces of the dancers as they step and whirl.

Suddenly they appear, tumbling out of the great mass of people in the centre of the room. Andrew is in his navy uniform while his wife, Rachel, sports a simple dress of muslin cloth, obviously handmaid. It is painfully obvious, as they emerge from the decadently and fashionably dressed, that they are poor. Not destitute, but certainly not rich either.

Laughing, with Andrew clutching a stitch in his side, they stumble up to us. James and Andrew clasp hands heartily while Rachel looks on the exchange between her husband and his best friend with delight in her eyes.

"I see you're enjoying the party, Andrew," James says, grinning broadly.

"No sense in not enjoying it, James," Andrew says, slipping an arm around his wife's waist to her sudden astonishment, "This may be our first and last ball, so we may as well make the best of it."

"Well, I'm glad you came," James says sincerely.

Andrew holds up one hand to stop him from saying more.

"Nonsense, James. You know I'd do more than come to a silly old party for you."

Rachel elbows him in the ribs good-naturedly, but gives her husband a pointed look.

"It's not some silly old party," she says in a lilting accent that I cannot quite place, "Look here, you must be the lovely Elizabeth that our dear James is going to marry."

Andrew and Rachel's eyes fix themselves on my face, and Rachel offers forth her hand. I take it and shake it lightly before letting go quickly. She does not seem to notice the hastiness of my actions but continues to smile kindly at me.

"Yes, this is Miss Elizabeth Swann," James says, beaming at me as though I were the most important person in the world to him. I try to smile back, although it comes out as more of a grimace than anything else, "Elizabeth, these are my dear friends, Andrew and Rachel Gillette."

"How do you-"

Before I can complete my sentence Rachel suddenly takes both of my hands in hers as though we have been friends for years. Andrew and James turn aside to talk of some other matter between them, and I am left alone with Mrs. Gillette. Her eyes, so very close to mine, are bright and shining in the candlelight.

"I do hope we will become fast friends, Miss Swann," she says, and then pauses, "Oh, that doesn't sound right at all. Would you mind terribly if I called you Elizabeth?"

I shake my head, quite unsure of what to make of this creature with her dark red locks, green eyes, and a freckled nose. She seems to have no notion of propriety or the rules of etiquette, but I hardly have time to turn our conversation to something more appropriate, like the weather, before she continues.

"Wonderful," she breathes, "You may call me Rachel. As soon as you and James are settled you _must _visit us. Our home is of more modest means than what you are used to I am sure, but it will be a welcome respite to the bustle of Port Royal. You will be welcome there at any time."

This woman's generosity astounds me considering I have only known her a matter of minutes. I stutter a "yes, thank you" in response, and her smile widens further.

"So, how long have you known James?" she asks, "He's spoken of you greatly in the past year or two, but never before that. Then again, that's what Andrew's told me, and he can be terribly unreliable sometimes."

She laughs, and I try to join her, but my laughter sounds like the croak of frogs next to peals of ringing bells.

"I've known him since I was about eleven or twelve, although he was much older than me at the time. He was one of the first people I met on my way to Port Royal," I reply carefully.

My story isn't entirely true. Yes, James was one of the first people I met on the journey to Port Royal, but I conveniently left out the deeper history between the two of us. Despite our age difference James did feel like a brother to me for some time. Then life caused us to drift apart. James went away for some time for navy training, and when he came back he was not the same James Norrington that I had known. He seemed stiff and pompous and power hungry. His quick rise through the ranks proved that particular theory. By then I had Will. In fact, I'd had Will all to myself for years and years by that time, and it went on from there. I didn't regret it, though perhaps James did . . . or still does.

"Brilliant," Rachel coos, and she is about to say something else when Andrew and James appear at our side again.

James leans down toward me and whispers in my ear so that only I may hear.

"Your father has asked that we make our way to the main room to make the announcement. Andrew and Rachel will follow behind us."

My throat feels suddenly parched and constricted at this news. I do not know why I am reacting so considering I knew it would be coming sometime tonight. As we move through the crowd into the next room and the next my mind is stuck on one image, that of Will as I last saw him. Tears come unbidden then, pressing at the backs of my eyes and burning my throat as I try to swallow them down. I set my lips primly so that they will not tremble and give away my sudden emotion.

We make our way toward the front of the room where Father stands waiting for us. Rachel and Andrew hang back in the doorway, taking champagne glasses from a passing servant for the inevitable toast that will follow. Across the room I spot Lord and Lady Norrington looking as sour as they had been minutes earlier. Sensing a change in atmosphere, the crowd grows gradually silent as more and more people fill the room.

Father looks around at everyone in turn, nodding at a few people here or there. He spreads his hands before him as the priest does during worship when he wishes to bless the congregation.

"Thank you, everyone, for being here tonight," he says in a booming voice that echoes around the room, "I hope you have enjoyed the entertainment and the company and, of course, the fine spirits!" A murmur of approval ripples through the crowd, and Father turns to look toward James and I standing awkwardly side by side, a good amount of space between us.

James steps forward, and I follow him without really knowing what I am doing. Father puts his hands on my shoulder and squeezes them.

"Now then," he says, "you must be wondering why I have called for your attention. It is because there is an announcement to be made." James takes this as his cue to speak, and I am vaguely aware of him clearing his throat next to me.

"Good evening," he begins, his voice significantly quieter than my father's, though just as strong, "First I'd like to thank Governor Swann for his fine hospitality this evening." There is a smattering of applause in response, but I can tell the crowd is more interested in the announcement than anything else. James seems to sense this as well and continues hastily. "And now, without further ado, I am pleased to inform you of the engagement of myself and Governor Swann's daughter, Miss Elizabeth Swann."

A cacophony of _ooh_s and _aah_s sweeps through the room, and everyone begins to clap, much louder this time. James is still speaking, but I hear nothing he says as sound becomes muted in my ears. I will myself to be any place other than this one. Father throws his arm fully around me, jostling me, hugging me to him. Now he is the one speaking, perhaps saying how proud he is of me, and how proud he will be to have James as a son-in-law. Though my head is up, and I am aware that I am smiling I cannot see the people in the crowd, most of whom I do not know, because I have my eyes trained on the face of William Turner in my mind's eye.

**Authoress' Note: **Sorry for the long wait! (That's why this chapter is extra long.) I've just returned to Brighton and spent the week moving in with a friend and seeing the sights. :) Just to address an issue that came up in a review – Yes, I know James' parents arrived much, _much_ too quickly to be realistic, but what you will eventually become aware of is that this story is on a timeline of sorts, and it simply had to work that way. No big deal to most of you I hope.


	10. A Matter of Perception

**A MATTER OF PERCEPTION**

The rest of the evening passes like a dream as I glide from room to room, shaking hands with aristocrats and colleagues of my father's acquaintance whom I do not know. They thrust themselves into my path, apprehending me by wringing my hand as their wives simper sweetly by their sides looking as though I were the luckiest girl in all of England. James takes their comments and handshakes in stride, and he hardly seems to notice as I draw further into myself, pulling away from the clamour of the outside world.

Only when he is about to leave, after most of the guests have gone away themselves, does he ask, "Elizabeth, are you all right? You look terribly pale."

His eyebrows are drawn together in concern in a way that is reminiscent of a look Will has given me before. My throat tightens, but I nod my head and choke out, "No, I'm fine, thank you."

He gives a curt nod and squeezes my limp hand in his own before letting it fall to my side. I watch his retreating back for a moment before the front door is closed behind him and then skirt past my father and make my way up the stairs unnoticed. Estrella's room is directly next to mine as it has been since my arrival in Port Royal. I can hear her bustling about, and so I knock on the door hesitantly. Everything goes silent, and then the door opens a crack. A dark eye peeks out at me with surprise.

"Miss! What ever is the matter?"

For now I have broken down into a complete mess, unable to control myself after such a stressful evening. I wipe my eyes and tear at my hair in frustration, mussing all of the hard work that Estrella had accomplished only hours earlier. She merely throws her arms around me and pulls me into her room.

"Hush now," she whispers, leading me to a washbasin set against the wall in the corner.

She wets a handkerchief that was tucked into her bodice and presses it to my face gently, while I brace myself against the basin trying to fight down the sobs rising in my throat. I raise my face and take in several gulps of air in an attempt to calm my shivering as Estrella continues to shush me and clean my face. Finally, she steers me into a chair and sits down across from me on the edge of her bed.

I look down at my hands wringing themselves into a knot in my lap. Estrella remains silent, watching me as I grapple with myself, as I wonder what on earth to say to this woman who I had so meanly spurned only hours earlier. I swallow hard and eventually raise my eyes to meet hers. She gives me an encouraging smile, and I feel all the more guilty for the way I treated this woman who has been more of a mother to me than anyone else in my life.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier, Estrella," I begin, "My father may have hired you as a servant in this house, but I do not see you as such. You are more of a friend and a mother to me than anyone else. Your companionship is something I cherish dearly, and I am very much afraid of losing it."

Estrella gives me a kind smile and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"You do not have to fear losing my friendship, Elizabeth," she says, "In many ways you are like the daughter or sister I never had. I will always be here for you."

I nod my head, grateful for her forgiving nature. Suddenly, all the weight of the deception Will and I are living presses down on me. "Estrella, I am terribly afraid," I whisper, my voice wavering

She draws her eyebrows together in confusion and grips my hands in her own.

"Why ever so?"

I pause then on the very precipice of telling her of my relationship with Will, but I cannot bring myself to do it. She sees my hesitation, and suddenly something changes in her countenance that suggests that everything has become clear to her. She nods knowingly and squeezes my hands, sending me strength and love in that simple gesture.

"It's about Mr. Turner, isn't it? You love him," she says in a low whisper, and I nod. She looks down at our hands, and then up at me. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I whisper back, shaking my head, my eyes searching wildly as though an answer will appear in the empty air before me. "Will told me he has everything under control, but I hardly believe it."

"You will go away with him then?" she inquires, her eyes wide.

The disbelief in her voice matches the doubt in my own as I reply.

"I don't Estrella, I don't know."

**Authoress' Note: ** Just a little closure . . . and by the way, yes, I purposefully made Lord and Lady Norrington polar opposites of their son (in the last chapter). ;) Thanks for the reviews! They're very much appreciated!


	11. Sweet Disposition

**SWEET DISPOSITION**

The next morning arrives much earlier than I had expected. A steady stream of knocking on my bedroom door startles me awake. Blearily, I lift my head and squint into the darkness.

"Yes?"

Without pretense Estrella bustles into the room, out of breath, and immediately throws open the heavy curtains on the windows to let in the early morning sunlight. I close my eyes as the sun's weak light sweeps through the room.

Stifling a yawn I ask, "W- What's the meaning of all this Estrella? I haven't been up this early in some time."

Estrella gives me an affronted look as I fall back onto the bed and bury my face in the pillow. She goes about taking clothes from the bureau and laying them out one by one for me to put on.

"I'll have you know that _Lady_ Norrington and the Commodore are here to see you about wedding plans. I suggest you not keep them waiting as the Lady does not seem to be a very patient woman."

I sit bolt upright completely shaken by Estrella's announcement and feeling quite wide-awake.

"Good God, why didn't you say so sooner?" I hiss frantically as I launch myself from the bed, taking up the clothes that have been laid out, and slipping behind the dressing screen. "Damn her for coming so soon. I thought James would have to work today…"

Estrella makes no note of my vulgar language, but bobs back and forth looking utterly helpless as she passes me further articles of clothing. She hastily laces up the back of my gown and attempts to do something with my hair, which is as it usually is upon waking, a mess. Estrella deftly twists it up and out of the way, tucking away stray strands as quickly as she can.

"There now," she says, satisfied, "Go, go!"

Hiking up my skirts I dash from the room and down the corridor before taking the stairs two at a time. Skidding to a halt in front of the sitting room door I take a deep breath, pat down my hair, and smooth down my dress front before stepping inside. Both son and mother's heads snap around as I enter the room, trying as hard as I can to exude a sense of calm. The tension in the room is immediately apparent and is increased tenfold when James suddenly stands up.

"Elizabeth," he acknowledges quietly, my name barely a breath escaping his lips.

I smile tightly and motion toward the chaise Lady Norrington is seated upon as I move toward a chair situated across from them.

"Do be seated, James."

He nods curtly and lowers himself stiffly, his mother watching this exchange with intense interest. Avoiding James' ardent gaze, I pour myself a cup of tea and wait for Lady Norrington to say something as I can tell she is bursting to do so. It does not take much time for her to start. Setting down her teacup she begins without even offering an explanation for why they are so early.

"Now then, usually it is the job of the bride's family to plan these sorts of things, but considering the circumstances-"

"Yes, my mother is dead," I mutter under my breath.

Lady Norrington, although I am sure she has heard me, simply cocks her head and gives me a glittering smile that reveals small, slightly pointed teeth. James shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Exactly, and your father isn't exactly up to planning a wedding, is he? These types of things need a feminine touch, and that's what I'm here to offer."

I hardly realise how hard my hands are clenched together until I slice the inside of my palm with a fingernail. Flexing one hand unconsciously and ignoring the blood, I nod in agreement, and Lady Norrington continues without taking a breath.

"Let's discuss the guest list first. I'll discuss whom James would like to invite with him later. As for you, is there anyone not within your immediate acquaintance that you would like to send an invitation to?"

I shake my head.

"No, ma'am."

Lady Norrington frowns slightly, raising her eyebrows.

"There's no one at all back in England?"

I shake my head again not bothering to tell her that I left England when I was twelve and thus have no connections there. Suddenly, I realise that I do not have many connections here either. The only person I would see fit to invite to the wedding would be Papa and Estrella, and that's not saying much. Lady Norrington leans forward and pats my arm sympathetically, and I freeze, broken from my reverie.

"It's understandable, dear," she says, her voice dripping with an obvious amount of pity.

I draw my brows together in confusion and shift away from her touch.

"Sorry?"

Lady Norrington waves her hand non-committally and speaks quickly, "I simply mean that it's understandable that you should have no one you would wish to invite. This is Jamaica for goodness sake. Not exactly a stones throw from England, is it?"

I bristle slightly at the implication, but before I can say anything James butts in abruptly.

"Mother, we came here to plan a wedding, not to antagonize one another."

James' mother smiles at him sweetly and pecks him on the cheek. He attempts to smile, but it comes across as a grimace, and I am at least grateful to know that I am not the only one suffering in her presence. Despite this fact, I am fuming over James' chivalry and wish he had said nothing so that I could have taken a bite out of his darling mother.

"All right then," she says, a false sweetness returning to her voice, "I'll send you an official list of invites as soon as I can. In fact, I'll bring it when I come by for the dress fitting."

"The dress fitting?" I ask, genuinely surprised, "I assumed I would be able to wear my mother's modified wedding dress."

James looks as though he is about to say something, but his mother cuts him off.

"I'll have to look at it first of course, but I'm sure we can make it look presentable."

I gape at her, anger that has already been building up over the past quarter hour boiling over as red heat spreads through my cheeks.

"Presentable?" I hiss, standing up immediately with my hands balled by my sides, my eyes burning into hers. There is a beat of silence in which she refuses to blink, and I sweep toward the door, propelled by my resentment. I turn at the door momentarily and spit out, "I hope you can see your way out."

The front hall is a blur as I hurry up the stairs that I came down not too long ago and enter my room. Estrella is there, straightening the room and dusting as she usually does, and I instantly throw myself into her arms.

"She's unbearable, Estrella! Absolutely unbearable!" I sob, as Estrella lowers me onto the bed. "You should have heard the way she was talking about Mama. All she could do was compare everything I said to herself and the bloody aristocracy of England. It was ridiculous!"

Suddenly there is a knock on the door. I swipe my hand across my eyes and meet Estrella's wondering look. She moves toward the door and opens it a crack. Someone speaks to her on the other side in a deep murmur, and then the door is closed. Estrella presses her back against it and mouths, "The Commodore."

I shake my head vigorously and take a handkerchief out of my sleeve to wipe my eyes. Estrella opens the door once again and whispers to James Norrington outside before turning back to me.

"He's insistent," she says quietly.

I give an exasperated sigh, but stand up anyway. It does not seem like I will be able to avoid him this time. The corridor is darkened when I join James, and he startles me slightly as he moves from the shadows. Concern is etched into every line of his face as his eyes search mine.

"I must apologise for my mother's behaviour," he says quietly, "She had no right to treat you in such a manner. What she implied about your own mother is unforgivable. I promise you it will not happen again."

"It should not have happened to begin with," I say tightly, attempting to keep the emotion out of my voice.

"Of course," he says, bowing his head in agreement.

Now that he is here alone without the presence of his mother hanging over us like a cloud I feel my confidence rise, and I long to cut him with my words as his mother's words have done to me.

"And another thing," I say, my voice growing slightly louder and more harsh, "if such a situation should occur again I would ask that you allow me to speak for myself instead of putting _your_ words into _my_ mouth."

He simply nods again, and I can feel my frustration mount despite the fact that I knew he would react in such a manner. James has always been that way, submissive and indifferent. I give him a sneer of disgust that he seems to ignore.

"Don't you have anything to say besides apologies that aren't even yours to be made?" I hiss, leaning toward him so that Estrella cannot hear from where I know she is listening at the door.

He remains unmoved by my taunting, though I see his shoulders tense imperceptibly. He replies just as I expect him to.

"I just wanted to say that I hope you wear your mother's wedding gown. I know it will look beautiful on you."

The gentle benevolence behind his words working in the face of my unspeakable cruelty causes me to shake with anger, although this time the anger is directed at myself and no one else. I wrap my arms around myself as James disappears around the corner, hating myself for the way I treat him when he hardly deserves it; when his only crime against me is the fact that he loves me.

**Authoress' Note:** Aww, James. :( Anyway, thanks for the reviews – they are fuel for the fire! Nurr, don't worry about missing a few reviews. I'm honoured that you read this anyway!


	12. Something Out of a Fairytale

**SOMETHING OUT OF A FAIRYTALE**

It takes Lady Norrington much longer to compile her guest list than I, or even she, thought it would take. For that I am grateful, and even more so for the fact that a date has been set for the wedding. It is less than two months away, at the end of July, before Port Royal becomes too warm for outdoor weddings. I thought that perhaps setting a date would make my situation feel more permanent, but it is quite the contrary. Having a date set aside has only helped me to better prioritise what needs to be completed before then. It has created a timeline for Will and myself to follow; a goal to reach, or not reach, if you will.

As soon as the date has been decided upon I sit down and write Will a short letter urging him, nay, imploring him to see me or contact me with some news. Some days it feels as though he has slipped over the edge of the world, and I shall never see him again. Writing to him makes him feel more real. At least, more real than he has felt in the past month. My message is short:

_My dear William,_

_A date has been set. I must speak with you as soon as possible. It would not be wise for us to meet at this time, however you may write to me and send your post by way of Estrella who will wait for you in the market square._

_All my love,_

_Elizabeth_

With my letter sent, tucked into Estrella's basket as she makes her way into town, I find that I have nothing else to do. There is no Lady or Commodore knocking at the door, and I have a feeling that I will not be seeing them for a while, which will be enough time for me to receive a reply from Will. The very thought of it excites me as nothing has in a while, and that excitement and near hysterical anxiety keeps me moving through the monotony of the next few days.

I do not have to wait long. Will's reply arrives at the end of the week written on the back of my own letter in an unsteady hand. The letter itself appears inconspicuously by my bedside table that morning, and I steal a glance at Estrella as she rearranges the gowns in my wardrobe. She smiles to herself, not realising that I am watching, and my spirits are lifted.

Sitting up I tear open the folded parchment along the seal and unfold it to read the letter in the morning light streaming in through the open windows. It is a cloudless, radiant day outside. Will's message is brief but joyful.

_Elizabeth,_

_Do not think I have forgotten you. How could I? Over the past few weeks I have been inquiring about work on vessels going to the British colonies in the north. I believe we would be safe there. I have much more information but very little time. Be in your room at sundown tomorrow. I will meet you there._

_Yours,_

_Will_

The colonies? A flame of curiosity is borne within me in that moment, and I press Will's letter against my chest, breathing deeply of the hope that seems to emanate from it. Right now my life seems to be made up of ultimatums, yet this one is not unwelcome; this one is the best of all. I look to Estrella, who continues to feign obliviousness, and wave the letter at her.

"Did you read this?" I ask, and Estrella glances up from her work.

"No, Miss, of course not."

Despite evidence to the contrary, I can tell she knows more than she lets on, and I press her further.

"What do you think he means by tomorrow?" I ask, reading over the letter again, "If he wrote it yesterday that could mean today, but if he wrote it this morning he could mean tomorrow."

Estrella nods carefully, lining my shoes up carefully in the bottom of the wardrobe.

"Considering I received the letter from him yesterday evening I think you can assume he means tonight."

Excitement wells within me, but suddenly fades into a well-worn frown tugging at my lips. Estrella straightens up as I swing my legs over the side of the bed to get ready for the day. Upon seeing my unsettled look she asks, "What is it now, Miss?"

"Lady Norrington and James is what," I shoot back with a scowl as I slip off my nightgown and wait for Estrella to lace me up, "I've only just remembered that they're supposed to come for tea and then stay for my dress fitting. What if they don't leave in time?"

Estrella pulls the strings on my corset, and I suck in a painful breath as her deft hands work at tying the strings in place. She keeps her head lowered toward her work as she speaks.

"Mr. Turner is a patient man. I'm sure he'll realise you've been held up."

I step into my gown and pull it up, and as Estrella laces up the back I give a dreamy sigh.

"Do you think we'll speak to one another from the window like Rapunzel or Romeo and Juliet?" I ask, my mind's eye envisioning just what our meeting will look like. It will be the first of its kind considering I have always visited William at the shop or in his room.

"Not to spoil your romantic notions, Miss, but no. Calling to one another from the window would wake the entire household, and then you'd have to worry about Mr. Turner being chased down by dogs or being shot at."

"Really, Estrella," I say to stop her from going further, and she shrugs. "You don't mean to suggest that he come up here in my room?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Estrella says, "and don't look so shocked. It's not as though you haven't been in a room alone with him before."

I remain silent, unsure of whether Estrella is hinting at my nighttime wanderings or some other such meeting.

"But it's not proper," I say in defense already knowing that it is a lame excuse, especially for me.

Estrella gives me an angled look with one eyebrow arched high on her forehead.

"And since when have you cared very much for propriety? Last time I-"

"All right, all right," I say, waving my hands at her and moving away to sit at my vanity mirror, "I understand your point. You know me too well, Estrella."

"That's very true, Miss."

**Authoress' Note: **The responses I received for the last chapter were appreciated (as usual), but at the same time I found them quite odd and unexpected. Many of you thought the last chapter was "cute", and I couldn't understand why until I realised that James' character comes across as very contrite and chivalrous. Cute indeed, ladies. ;) I'm glad you enjoyed it. On a related note, I also received a review from figureskater1589 asking the following questions: "Does Elizabeth end up falling for Norrington? Does she have to be forced to marry him, does she willingly marry him, or leave him for Will?" Brilliant questions, but I'm afraid that if I were to answer them it would give away too much and put a damper on the suspense I hope readers are feeling. All shall be revealed soon enough. :)


	13. Queen of Impudence

**QUEEN OF IMPUDENCE**

"Please just try to act civil, Mother," I implore on our bumpy ride from my parent's lodging to the Governor's mansion.

My mother sits stiffly across from me, her arms folded over her chest. As usual she has over dressed for the occasion despite my telling her that there will be no one to impress. She forces her eyes away from the window and makes a sound of disapproval.

"Only if _she _does," Mother replies hotly, "I should not have to put up with her impudence."

"Nor should she have to put up with yours," I say firmly, and my mother merely gapes in response, so I continue speaking. "I love Elizabeth greatly, and I already feel guilty enough about pushing her into this marriage not to have you make it any worse for her. Why won't you act as Father does?"

Mother hisses slightly with a sharp intake of breath.

"Silent and dull you mean?"

"Precisely."

She immediately bristles and becomes indignant, as I knew she would.

"I will not! I will not lower myself in such a way. It's bad enough your father does."

I sigh heavily and resign myself to looking out of the carriage window and thinking of the predicament I have landed myself in. In all honesty, it is a sheer miracle that Elizabeth and I have made it this far. I almost certainly feared rebellion on Elizabeth's part, yet none has come. As a young girl she was terribly headstrong, and she has certainly not lost that quality. There is something lost though. I have seen it in her eyes; a certain emptiness, a loss of will and drive. It pains me to see it, and sometimes I do not know why I do not simply take back my word and give my beautiful caged bird her freedom. I suppose it is not that simple. Love is not that simple. It seems impossible to give up that which you have poured your heart into lest you should not get your heart back in one piece.

"So that's it then?"

I pull out of my reflections and snap my head around to look at my mother, who is watching me now with her mouth turned downward with disdain. We have come to a complete stop without me realising it. I duck my head without answering and look toward the Governor's mansion that rises before us like a mistake on a painting of a bowl of tropical fruits. It is grey stone, and it would seem completely uninviting if the front doors did not stand open, warm light spilling out as though it were beckoning us inside.

"That's it," I confirm.

The carriage door opens, and I step out to help my mother down after me. She refuses to take my offered hand and sweeps past me coldly. I remain unfazed, because I know that if I react it will only serve to spur her sour temper. We stand for a moment in the doorway, and Mother raps smartly on the open door to announce our arrival.

"Ah, you're here!"

The Governor comes bustling out of an adjacent room, rubbing his hands together with delight. I only then realise that he has never met my mother. I glance at her and immediately know the guise settling on her face. She is looking him up and down, calculating. Governor Swann falters slightly under her unfaltering stare but summons us nonetheless.

"Come now, no need to linger on the threshold when there are friends to be met and good food to partake of."

I step forward and take the Governor's hand. He shakes it firmly, but I can tell he is more interested in my mother than myself. I step aside then and motion to my mother who holds out her hand.

"This is my mother, Lady Norrington. Mother, Governor Swann."

"My Lady," Governor Swann murmurs over her hand, and I am taken aback by his ability to win my mother's approval so easily. Mother beams down at his bowed head with satisfaction and nods at me as though to say I-told-you-so.

Straightening up the Governor says, "Elizabeth is already waiting for us in the dining room. I've had Cook prepare something light so that you," here he nods to my mother, "can set to work on wedding preparations. Now, may I have the honour of escorting you to the dining room?"

"Yes, thank you," my mother simpers taking the Governor's offered arm.

When she is not looking he turns to me, winks, and I shake my head, stifling a laugh. I should have known the Governor would be able to see right through her show. I follow them into the dining room, and immediately my eyes go to Elizabeth who sits on the opposite side of the table with her eyes down, staring blindly at the plate Estrella puts in front of her. My mother is talking to the Governor, but I hardly notice them as we sit down. Instead I watch Elizabeth, waiting for her to look up; wishing for her to look up. Instead she picks up her fork and pushes her food around the plate, taking small bites intermittently. I hardly eat either and try to follow the conversation, but it is impossible.

My mother completely ignores Elizabeth the entire time and engages her father in conversation through out the entire meal. I remain silent despite the concerned looks that the Governor gives me while my mother pauses for breath between her continued tirades. Elizabeth seems distracted, and when we stand up to part ways I take her aside.

"Are you all right?" I ask quietly, and for the first time that evening Elizabeth looks directly at me with a fierce look in her eyes.

"If this has anything to do with your mother, I can manage on my own, thanks, " she snaps, and for the first time there is a spark of anger in my voice when I reply.

"I'm just trying to help you," I hiss, "You seemed preoccupied, and I'm telling you that you can't let your guard down when you're around her or she'll take every advantage she can. I'm just warning you."

"I said I could manage," she hisses back, seething now.

I calm myself with a deep breath. It seems I have only made the situation worse by making her angry. I only hope they will be able to stay in the same room together, alone, for longer than two seconds.

"Fine," I reply and follow the Governor into the sitting room where he begins to pour drinks for the two of us, though I know I will not be able to enjoy mine properly with the acrid taste of my own anger in my mouth and anxiety twisting my stomach.

**Authoress' Note:** I'm trying to get these out as quickly as I can, but school's started again, and well, you know how that goes. :) Thanks for all the reviews as usual. I love hearing from all of you! A special thanks to Nurr for her illustrations – I can't wait to see more! (If she gives me permission I'll post a link to where you can view them.)


	14. At Wit's End

**AT WIT'S END**

Lady Norrington and I are suddenly alone in the dining room as the door shuts behind James' retreating back. The anger I felt from seconds before dissipates quickly as I become aware of the fact that Lady Norrington is watching me, her eyes hawk-like. I nod at her as some kind of show of respect, and she seems to take it as such.

"Everything we'll need is in the other room. Estrella has agreed to do the pinning and sewing, so we won't have to worry about that," I say, breaking the tense silence.

I lead her into the next room, an unused sitting room of sorts and wait for her to start in on me. When she does not say anything I motion to Estrella to bring my mother's wedding gown forward. She does so, holding it up so that it does not touch the floor. Even after all these years it is still as pristinely white as how my father described it was the day he wed my mother. Lady Norrington stares at it for a full minute, and then points at me.

"Put it on," she commands.

I move behind a screen that was set up earlier, and Estrella helps me pull on the gown. I have never worn it before, and I am surprised to find that I am nearly the same size as my mother was when she was married. I step out from behind the screen and revolve slowly on the spot.

"The shoulders are a bit wide," I concede, pulling them up as one slips from my shoulder, "and these bows on the front will have to go of course. Estrella could do a lovely embroidered pattern in their stead of flowers or-"

"No."

I stop speaking, my smile fading as I catch sight of Lady Norrington's stern gaze.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said no," the Lady says again, and she waves her hands at my dress as though it were some more offensive article of clothing, "It's much too old, and there's far too much work to be done on it. In my opinion you'd have to refit the entire gown to achieve a more modern style. That one is from twenty or thirty years ago now. I haven't seen a stomacher like that in ages. It's horrendous."

"It doesn't matter how modern it is," I contend, heat rising in my cheeks, "No one terribly important is going to see it, and I'm only going to wear it for one day."

"I will not have my son's wedding ruined by your lack of fashion sense," Lady Norrington says shrilly, "If I have to pay for someone to make you a new dress then I will."

"God woman, you're being ridiculous," I cry, "This is my mother's dress, and I'm going to wear it. There's nothing you can do to stop me!"

"Ridiculous am I?" she asks, and now her voice has become very cold, "You're the one who wants to wear her _dead_ mother's wedding dress."

I step back, stung. Lady Norrington seems to understand that she has struck a cord within me, and she continues in a low, menacing voice. Estrella looks on in utter bewilderment.

"Yes, you're mother is dead. You said so your self, didn't you? As such, as soon as you marry my son I will be _as good as_ your mother, and you will listen to me. Take the dress off and hand it over."

I stand rooted to the spot, hot tears burning the backs of my eyes.

"What are you going to do with it?" I ask quietly, balling my hands into fists. I will not give up without a fight.

"Burn it of course. That's the only way you can deal with these types of things."

"You monster," Estrella says, her voice shaking with rage.

Lady Norrington shoots her a fierce, burning look.

"You can leave now," she says, "We no longer require your service."

Estrella looks to me then, and I plead with her silently, willing her to stay. For a moment she remains rooted to the floor, and then when the Lady takes a step toward her she moves quickly toward the door and disappears around the corner. Lady Norrington turns back to me then, and suddenly I know what it feels like to be a trapped animal with no hope of escape.

There is a brief pause, and then several things happen at once. Just as I make a bolt for the door Lady Norrington leaps toward me with a snarl grasping the cloth of the dress in her hands. For a moment we wrestle with one another as I attempt to pry her hands from me. It does not take long for her to realise that I am stronger than she, but in that instant I am able to throw her hands away and run for the door. She swears loudly and follows close behind. I am fast though, and in mere seconds I pass by the open door to the sitting room. Inside I can hear Estrella sobbing, and my Father's face appears around the doorway.

"Elizabeth, what on earth-?"

I keep running though, all the way up to my room where I shut and lock the door behind me. Chest heaving I lean against the door and slide down till I am sitting on the floor with my back against it. I curl my legs toward my chest and close my eyes, breathing deeply to keep sobs from rising in my throat. It is not long before I hear footsteps in the corridor outside. Someone tries the door handle, but it is no use.

"Elizabeth, will you come out?"

It is my father's voice, vexed and concerned.

"No," I reply simply, my voice straining.

"Estrella told us what happened. James and his mother have left. He said he would talk to her."

"I don't care."

There is a beat of silence.

"Since you do not seem fond of my company, would you mind if I sent Estrella up?"

"No."

I listen as his footsteps fade away and are replaced moments later by lighter ones that can hardly be heard on the carpeted floor. I unlock the door, and Estrella enters. Her face is blotchy and tear stained despite her efforts to wipe the tears away. She gives me a small smile, but says nothing, and I am grateful for her silence. She helps me out of my mother's wedding gown and hangs it in the wardrobe.

"Don't forget about Mr. Turner," she says quietly, almost as an afterthought, as she makes her way toward the door, "He should be here soon."

I nod and pull on my nightgown, feeling utterly spent. I had not realised just how dark the room had become until I lit a candle and placed it on my bedside table. I pull back one of the curtains over the window and the last rays of today's sun spill into the room giving me enough light to scan the darkness down below. Just as the golden orb of the sun falls over the horizon and out of sight I see a flurry of movement in the gloom. I blink, thinking at first that I have imagined it, and then William appears out of the foliage and right under my bedroom window. He sees me standing there, waiting for him, and smiles.

I open the window, pushing it outward, and call softly down to him, "William."

"Elizabeth."

His voice sends a shiver up my spine.

"Am I going with you, or are you coming up here?" I ask as quietly as I can.

"I could climb up," he responds, "but only if you want me to."

"Yes, of course," I breathe.

Hastily I run to my bed and strip the coverlet off so that I can lower the sheet down to him as a rope. I bolster it on the leg of the wardrobe and watch as William scales the wall to my open window. At this moment I do not care what Estrella says, seeing Will like this _is_ like something out of Rapunzel or Romeo and Juliet. As soon as he pulls himself over the sill he tumbles into my waiting arms, and I breathe a sigh of deep relief. I do not need to worry anymore. In moments all will become clear.

We step apart reluctantly, and for a moment I allow Will to simply stand there and soak in the new environment as I lean outward into the darkness to close the window with a _snap_. Will seems startled by the sound as I turn back toward him. The candle on the bedside table gutters briefly but holds. Suddenly I realise just how out of place he looks amongst the lace and pastel upholstery. Even in the wane light I can tell that he did not have time to change between working and coming to see me as he still wears his dark work trousers and a loose white shirt with his hair pulled back and out of the way.

"How is everything here?" he asks, a bitter tinge in his voice the only sign that he is referring to wedding preparations and not something else.

I go to him, wrapping his arms around me so that I can lean my head against his shoulder.

"Not well," I say quietly, "His mother is a witch. I've had to endure her insults again and again without respite."

Will remains silent, brooding, and I look up at him, our lips mere centimetres from each other.

"She insulted my mother, Will."

His arms tighten around me, but his voice is calm when he speaks.

"You will not have to suffer such indignities much longer," he says, and my eyes widen.

"Do you mean-? You said in your letter-"

"I have secured passage aboard a cargo ship going to the colonies. I talked to the captain myself, and as long as I agree to work for him until we make port he has agreed to take us as far north as we please."

"Oh Will!" I exclaim in an excited exhalation of breath, "That's wonderful! When can we leave?"

He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and rests his forehead against mine.

"We have a full month to wait while they stock up on supplies, but then," and here his voice is an excited whisper, "we can leave, and as soon as we make landfall I will take you to the nearest church and marry you."

"Or the captain can marry us on the ship," I suggest seriously, and Will seems to pause for a moment pondering my suggestion.

"Yes, whatever you wish," he says finally, and he is so close to me that I can see the earnest flecks of amber and gold in his brown eyes.

"Mrs. Turner," I whisper, and I close the space between us, pressing the name against his lips.

When I pull away it is not for long. Immediately he kisses me again, playfully, smiling against my lips. I press my body against him, and he gives a sharp intake of breath, breaking the contact between us. His eyes search mine, a look of both questioning and longing wrestling within them, but there is nothing to be said between us. Not now, not when we are on the very precipice of our life together.

Deftly he pulls my nightgown over my head, and though I can feel a blush traveling up my body and lodging in my cheeks, Will does not seem to notice as he trails kisses from my jaw to my neck and _downward_. My arms surround him, embracing him, pulling him toward me between fervent sighs of desire.

A clock somewhere within the house chimes, and we stand frozen for a moment, the heat between us almost tangible. As the ringing bells fade away all becomes silent again except for the beating of our hearts, the blood rushing in our heads, and the soft caress of whispers in a darkened room. My bed is suddenly behind me, and as I fumble with Will's trousers we fall into it, tumbling into a tangle of limbs and unadulterated desire.

It is still dark when I awaken some time later. Will is no longer sleeping peacefully beside me but has left, as I expected he would. I feel a pang of disappointment nonetheless as I stretch out an arm across the space where his body lay next to mine. A draft of cool air sweeps through the room from the window ruffling the bed sheets. I shift uncomfortably underneath them, feeling sore in places I had not expected. Somehow the bed feels cramped now that Will is gone, so I swing my legs gingerly over the side and gather my nightgown from its place on the floor. Pulling it on over my head, I pad across the room to shut the window. I pull the curtain over it, and then lie back down on the bed and pull the covers over me.

My eyes remain open, staring upward at the canopy of cloth above me. Images from only hours earlier replay themselves in my minds eye, and no matter what exultant emotions they give me I cannot help feeling as though there is something missing from me now that cannot be gained again. Suddenly I think of James and my heart gives a twinge of guilt for what has transpired between Will and I considering the promise I said I would keep.

I turn over on my side mulling these ideas over in my head and trying to decide just how I feel about this situation. My promise to James should not matter, I reason, because Will and I will be married soon anyway. An engagement is in no way equal to marriage, is it? I chew at my bottom lip, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Despite the bond created between Will and I this night I cannot help feeling as though I have done something wrong. I cannot help feeling as though I have stolen from James what is rightfully his.

**Authoress' Note: **Two comments: 1) Mm, oh no Elizabeth didn't! 2) Lady Norrington is quite possible the most ludicrous and ridiculous character I've ever written. What a stupid woman! I apologise for the squicky-ness at the end of the chapter, by the way. I try to make those sorts of scenes as painless as possible for everyone, but sex is inevitable in life . . . I do my best, I suppose. :)


	15. Sick At Heart

**SICK AT HEART**

"You did not tell your mother or Elizabeth that you were leaving for three weeks?" Andrew asks incredulously.

"That's right," I say matter-of-factly, as I watch men bearing cargo board the ship. I look down at the list in my hand, and just as I am about to follow after them to ask what they have brought aboard so that I can check it off Andrew places a firm hand on my shoulder.

"James, you didn't tell _Elizabeth_?" he asks again, just as disbelieving as before. "What about the Governor for Christ's sake?"

"No to both of them."

I call the two gentlemen bearing the cargo back and take their names down on my short piece of parchment. Andrew makes an exasperated sound.

"James!"

"What?" I ask, annoyance lacing the edge of my voice as I turn to him once more.

"This- this is all very unlike you," Andrew says darkly, shaking his head, "What would possess you to do such a thing?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, my eyes narrowing, "No one will care anyway. My mother would rather die than see me married to Elizabeth, and I think at this point, Elizabeth would rather die before being married to me. The Governor seems to be the only one who is happy with the situation."

"You are not happy?"

I sigh, frustrated.

"No, I'm not. It's a bit difficult to be happy when the woman you love does not love you in return, and you feel as though you are wasting your time with her."

"Well with that attitude you may as well be," Andrew says sharply, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't lecture me, Andrew," I say through clenched teeth.

I turn away from him so that I can get back to work, but he remains persistent.

"Obviously it's too late to do anything now since we're about to leave port, but as soon as you get back you should go straight to her and explain yourself. You may find that time has changed the situation. Trust me, James."

Andrew's hand is on my shoulder again, and though I stiffen he does not pull his hand away. His logic is impeccable as usual, and I cannot ignore the fact that he has more experience than me in such matters than I give him credit for. There is a beat of silence between us, and then I shrug his hand away with a wane smile.

"All right, Andrew, you've convinced me as you usually do."

"What would you do without me?" he jokes, and I attempt to cuff him in the shoulder good-naturedly, but he pulls away quickly.

"Run this ship better, that's what," I mutter, and Andrew grins guiltily, hanging his head, "Now off with you Lieutenant, to your station."

"Aye Sir!" Andrew says as he snaps to attention, and then is off across the deck to issue orders to his own subordinates.

I watch him go, pondering his advice and hoping that what he says is true. I could do with some change right now, especially where Elizabeth is concerned. I have avoided her presence since the disaster that occurred two weeks ago. The Governor, his usual forgiving self, took the situation down to the emotion of the two women, but I saw it for what it really was: the manifestation of Elizabeth's unhappiness and my own mother's disappointment in my decision to marry her. There were no words I could say to Elizabeth that night to gain forgiveness, and I do not think there will ever be words for it.

My mother is an entirely different matter. She is my mother, and despite her flaws and the distance between us I must love her out of gratitude if anything else. Her behaviour is inexcusable, but I cannot change her. London society has shaped her to be what she is, and I cannot ever expect her to accept what I have done with my life. It will not be long before she will be gone, however, and than life will go on. Where it will go on to I do not know. Perhaps that is the change that Andrew hinted at that Elizabeth and I need. At any case, some type of change would be welcome as soon as I arrive back in Port Royal.

Suddenly a warm wind whips the sails sending them billowing outward, and I see them as winds of change; a good omen in these otherwise troubled times. The man at the helm looks to me as I lower my eyes from up above. He nods, and I nod in return.

"Ready to set sail, Sir?" he asks.

"Aye, take her out Helmsman."

A few minutes pass, and then we are gliding out into the bay, the front of the _Dauntless_ cutting the waves like a knife. She moves swiftly, and the wind picks up, pushing her sails out further. Behind me Port Royal slips away like sand through an hourglass, eclipsed in the shine of the rising sun over a crest of hills in the distance. I turn my eyes back toward the scene of endless ocean extending before me, and something ignites within me. I let it flicker there for a moment hoping that it will not die. When it is not extinguished it spreads through out me, a hot glow. With this blazing feeling within my chest I find that the idea of returning to this place in only a few weeks time does not hold the same amount of dreadfulness as it once did.

I stare down at the cup of steaming brown tea, my hands hovering around it as I debate whether to drink or not. My stomach seems to flip over at the thought, squeezing itself into a tight, cramping knot. I ease back in my chair, away from the nauseating smell as sudden dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. Estrella looks up, alarmed, from across the table where she stands buttering a scone.

"Miss, you're not going to eat anything? That's the third time this week," she says, setting the scone down on a plate and reaching over to take my full cup.

Before I can answer Father peers at me from over the top of his newspaper. His eyes are clouded with worry as I sit dejectedly with my hands in my lap taking deep breaths through my nose to calm my roiling stomach.

"Elizabeth, are you sure I should not call a doctor? You were completely fine yesterday and now . . ."

He looks at me expectantly, and I meet his gaze for a minute, but I fear that if I open my mouth I will vomit.

"I'm sorry," I manage to spit out before hurrying from the room.

Upon reaching my room I hardly have time to close the door behind me when I sink to the floor. I swallow hard to keep myself from gagging and close my eyes, rocking back and forth. Someone suddenly knocks on the door, and before I can protest Estrella lets herself in. I can feel her watching me, her eyes burning into my back.

"Your father sent me up to check on you, Miss," she says softly.

I am silent in response until just as abruptly as the nausea began it seems to dissipate with one last shaking exhale of breath. I feel cold and clammy all over and realize that I have been shaking without knowing it. It has been some time since I was last ill, and I can hardly remember the terrible feeling of it.

"Miss, there must be something . . ."

"Everything's fine," I snap.

But everything is not fine. I haven't been able to down a proper breakfast in days without feeling ill. Estrella is not daft, and I know what she's thinking as if she had said it aloud, but I cannot bring myself to admit that I have been thinking the same.

Feeling stronger I straighten up, swaying on my feet at the sudden movement. Estrella looks on, biting her lip with concern, but she says nothing further. I bustle about the room in an effort to keep Estrella from talking and myself from thinking. It is impossible not to do the calculations and to remind myself that James will be back in a week. By then I will know . . .

With James on my mind, I turn back to Estrella who I know is still in the room despite her silence.

"Why do you think James left so abruptly?"

Estrella shakes her head.

"It wasn't abrupt. He's in the navy and must be ready to leave at a moments notice," she offers.

"I know," I say, "but he didn't tell anyone. It's the last thing I'd expect from him."

"Perhaps he simply wanted to get away. Things haven't been too easy for him in recent weeks."

I roll my eyes with exasperation.

"And how do you think _I_ feel?"

Estrella looks up from where she is straightening my bed. She smooths down her dress.

"It's been hard for you as well, Miss," she says acknowledges, "but if all goes according to the plan you and Mr. Turner have concocted then I am sure life will become immensely easier for you, or at least happier. Just think of your father and the Commodore . . ."

She trails off quickly in a rush of breath. I do not respond, because in truth, I have not thought of our situation in such a way before. It strikes a chord within me, but at the same time there is some part of me that feels that nothing can be done either way. No matter the outcome there will always be a loser.

**Authoress' Note: **I know the timeline is confusing (and I'm doing a terrible job of explaining it) – James left approximately two weeks after the incident between Elizabeth and his mother. When Elizabeth falls ill it's been about a month or so since the incident and James has been at sea for two weeks. He will return the next week. (More explanation on where I've been following the next chapter.)


	16. The Silence of Deception

**THE SILENCE OF DECEPTION**

I remain sick to my stomach throughout the week, and despite the oddity of it my father never calls in a doctor. The day James is supposed to arrive I lay in bed after once again skipping breakfast while Estrella lays out my clothes as usual.

"Are you sure you're going to be well enough to see the Commodore?" she asks.

I nod, keeping my eyes trained on the canopy above me as though staring at it will solve all my problems or at least keep my stomach in check. My mind is numb with thoughts and ideas that seem to have blossomed over night. They slide past one another, clouding out every other thought and creating a haze of anxiety that settles on my brain and through out my tensed limbs.

"You know, I think I know why you have been sick," Estrella says matter-of-factly, looking up from her work with a thoughtful expression on her face.

My stomach clenches, and I sit up abruptly. Estrella breaks from her reverie and looks at me quizzically. I lower myself slowly back onto the bed so as not to rouse suspicion.

"Sorry," I mumble, "What do you think?"

"Well, I remember when you first began your monthly bleeding. You often became sick at that time of the month. I'm sure you remember it well enough. I can't believe I didn't think of it before."

"Yes, I do remember," I say quietly, keeping my eyes on the canopy once more.

Estrella stands awkwardly in silence as though waiting for me to get up, but when I do not she leaves. I wait for the door to click and the sound of her muffled footsteps to die away before I get up and dress. When I return downstairs Estrella is nowhere to be seen, but Father is still at the table reading over some paperwork. He looks up as I enter the room and smiles.

"Feeling better?" he asks.

"A little," I lie, attempting to smile cheerfully.

"Very good," he says, as though praising me for a job well done, "You'll be able to see James then?"

"Yes," I say for what feels like the fiftieth time today.

We fall into silence again, a silence that becomes unbearable. I wander back up to my room in a lethargic state and lower myself onto the bed again. I draw my knees up to my chest, and then lower them down. I press my hands flat against my stomach and let out a deep breath to quell the fear I feel rising within me. This is not the first time my monthly bleeding has come late. I think this to reassure myself, but it hardly helps. The sickness, the dizziness, the missed bleeding – everything, falls into place like pieces of a puzzle. I will not be able to deny it much longer.

I clench my abdomen, my fingernails digging into the fabric of my dress and squeeze hard. What will I do with this . . . this . . . this _parasite_ growing within me, this _thing_ I do not want? As soon as its existence is known all of my hopes and dreams will be dashed. Already I can feel the faraway colonies slipping from my grasp.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, and a pang of pure hatred shoots through me. This is Will's child. I will not be able to deny it. He _could_ be accused of rape, but he_ will_ be accused of adultery. Either way he will know no end but that of a swift sword or the hangman's noose. I cannot stand the thought of having his blood on my hands and his baby in my arms. Stifling a sob at the thought, I choke back the tears pressing at the back of my throat.

Suddenly, an idea occurs to me, one that I have heard women speak of before in hushed tones to one another. There are many ways to phrase it, but I am not naïve. I know what they are talking about. There are ways to rid oneself of the problem. I do not know why I have not thought about it before in the few days that I have known of its existence.

Renewed by this thought I bustle around the room almost in a trance searching for something sharp with which to do the deed. Just as I crouch down to look in the drawers of my bedside table there is a knock at the door and someone jiggles the jamb. I freeze, terrified to death that all will be discovered, and wait to see who is waiting behind the door.

"Miss, are you all right? I've brought you some tea. Would you like it?" Estrella asks.

My eyes dart to the clock on the wall. It is already noon, much later than I thought. I must get on with it soon or else lose my chance forever.

"No thank you," I call out weakly, hoping that will be enough to send her away.

After a few long seconds her footsteps die away. But now I have lost part of my nerve in those few misplaced moments. The clock on the wall ticks away the minutes as I remain crouched, fighting with myself. Five minutes pass . . . ten minutes pass . . . a quarter of an hour, and a half. Only when a full hour has passed do I finally move, unfolding myself from my position on the floor. My joints ache as I stand up, but my mind is slightly clearer than before.

I walk to my wardrobe and open it. I slip one of my gowns from the metal hook it hangs on and let it fall to the floor. Sitting down on the bed I begin to untwist the metal in my hands. It is cold and almost rough to the touch. As I twist a bead of sweat rolls down my back, and I can feel my heart pounding away in my throat. The elongated metal is in both of my hands now, and I feel its tip with the pad of my thumb. It is sharp to the touch, and it sends a shiver up my spine. Staring at it trembling in my hands a terrifying thought comes to me- What if I were to bleed copiously? I would not be able to hide such a thing easily. I would simply bleed and bleed and bleed . . .

Someone knocks on the door again, and I almost faint in a combination of anxiety and relief.

"Yes?" I call hoarsely, stuffing the wire out of sight. My voice sounds weak, and I mentally berate myself for it.

"The Commodore is here, Miss. He'd like to take you out so you'd best wear your walking boots."

"I'll be down in a minute," I call, my voice stronger this time.

When I leave my room the corridor is deserted and a drumming throb begins behind my eyes so that I feel dizzy again. The light at the end of the corridor seems far away, and it feels like years before I reach the end on my unsteady feet. I peer over the stairs, and sure enough, there is James looking the same as usual, if not a bit more tan. Still reeling from moments before I take the stairs slowly afraid to let go of the railing.

"Elizabeth," James says in greeting.

My mouth is dry so I do not speak but instead nod in acknowledgment. He offers me his arm, and after I take it he leads me toward the door.

"I thought it'd be good for us to get outside and discuss things without my mother around," he says as we step out into the sunlight.

Immediately I feel ten times worse. I am perspiring again, and my tongue feels thick in my mouth. As we make our way down the drive and toward the road that wends itself through the tamer areas of Port Royal James speaks again.

"My mother has my father employed else where so we have plenty of time to discuss other matters before she realizes I've gone missing."

Finding my voice I ask, "How was your voyage?"

"Very well," he says, glancing at me with a smile, happy that we should discuss matters other than the wedding, "I've actually been meaning to tell you about a voyage I'll be taking a few months after we're married. It's routine, but I thought you ought to know beforehand . . . Elizabeth? Elizabeth, are you all right?"

I can feel James supporting me under my elbow and realize that I had been leaning on him. I wave my hand at him unconcernedly and shake my head to clear the black spots dancing before my eyes. Then suddenly my knees buckle, and I fall into darkness as James calls out my name one more time.

Someone is speaking, and I am vaguely aware of a hand pushing against my lower abdomen. I shift on my back uncomfortably, and the pressure is removed. My eyes flutter open, and an unfamiliar face comes swimming into view. I jerk my body upward, and dark spots dance before my eyes again. I put a hand to my throbbing temple, and someone puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, lowering me gently back to my pillow. Dr. Bertram leans over me smiling sadly.

"Sorry, I hope I did not frighten you," he says kindly.

"No, that's all right . . . I just . . ."

I notice Estrella sitting in a chair on the far side of the room, and Dr. Bertram follows my gaze.

"Ah," he says as though he has come across some sort of interesting information, "Miss, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?"

Estrella hesitates for a minute, confliction clearly etched on her face.

"It will be no longer than a few minutes. I simply would like to ask Miss Swann a few questions. I am at your discretion, dear lady, and if you feel I have overstayed my welcome then I will completely understand if you ask me to take my leave."

This is enough to convince Estrella of the doctor's motives, and she leaves the room. We wait with bated breath until the door clicks shut and her footsteps die away. Dr. Bertram draws a chair close to the bed, gathering his instruments as he begins to speak.

"I've never known you to be a daft girl, Miss Swann," he says, "So I'm sure you've put together all the pieces here and can very well understand the gravity of this situation."

"Yes," I say, my head clearing as his calm voice washes over me.

He gives me another one of his sad smiles and asks, "Does anyone else besides me know?"

I shake my head, and then quickly add, "I'd like to say in my own time, Sir, so I'd appreciate it greatly if you didn't say anything about it to my father."

"Of course, I understand," he replies in a solemn voice. He pauses for a moment as though listening, and then jerks a finger over his shoulder toward the door. "I suggest you say something first to your maid. A woman like her, she's probably already put two and two together, don't you think?"

"You're probably right," I concede, and I must sound reluctant, because Dr. Bertram becomes serious again.

"Really, you can't hide it forever," he says, and then his tone lightens and he pats my hand, "For now you get some rest and drink plenty of water. Try to eat something in the morning even if you don't feel like it. The sickness should subside within the next month. Until then, if you have any more problems you know where to find me."

"Thank you," I say, and he smiles again, still sympathetic.

I genuinely mean what I say for I am grateful for the kindness and graciousness he has shown me when all I expected was scorn. As soon as Dr. Bertram leaves Estrella hurries in, bustling about the room with an almost inhuman energy. I watch her for a minute as she tucks in the bed linens more firmly and fidgets with arrangement of the window curtains. Unexpectantly, she sits down hard in the chair by the bed and bursts into tears.

"Estrella!" I cry, sitting up hastily, "What is it?"

She wipes at her eyes as she lets out in a strangled voice, "It's all my fault! If I hadn't let you alone with Mr. Turner this never would have happened!"

Afraid that someone will hear Estrella's crying I try to quiet her, and after a few minutes she subsides into a watery sniffling.

"Please, don't blame yourself," I plead, "I was fully aware of my decision and its consequences. It could have happened anywhere, at any time."

Sobered slightly Estrella chokes out, "I just don't understand."

"I don't either, but there's nothing else to be done. I've thought of everything."

Estrella's head snaps up suddenly, her eyes wide, and I immediately know what she is thinking. Reluctantly, I pull out the elongated metal hook from its hiding place under my pillow, and Estrella snatches it from my hand, completely in control of herself now.

"Thank God you didn't go through with that," she says tersely, "I've seen what happens when those sorts of things go wrong. You could have died."

"I could die having this baby," I say smugly, crossing my arms over my chest. It is a childish pronouncement, and Estrella gives me a mean glance for it.

"That's much less likely than contracting some infection after plunging a metal rod into your body," she retorts.

I say nothing, and after a few seconds of silence Estrella closes the curtains fully across the windows allowing the room to fall into darkness.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I thought perhaps you would like to sleep, unless you'd rather your father come up here to interrogate you about the doctor's diagnosis."

She gives me a pointed look, and I hunker down under the covers. The room reaches another level of gloom as Estrella leaves me alone again closing the door behind her. My eyes remain open for some time, peering into the shadows for something I cannot see until I finally fall into a dreamless sleep.

**Authoress' Note: **Hello all! Thanks so much for all the reviews during my short absence! University has really picked up, and I'm finding it hard to balance writing and coursework. I'll do my best though. (Hence, the two chapters to tide you over!) Thanks as well for the support on the ending of chapter 14. I tried to keep it in the T rating, and it looks like I succeeded. By the way, I've had some complaints that the switches between James' and Elizabeth's POVs are confusing. Is there any way I could make that less confusing for all of you?


	17. Put Away Your Childish Things

**PUT AWAY YOUR CHILDISH THINGS**

"_When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things." – 1 Corinthians 13:11_

I awaken hours later. It is dark outside though not as late as I assume as the clock on the mantle reads only ten. My father will be asleep by now, but William will not. I smooth down the dress I have slept in and stand up slowly. Finding my balance I pad softly down the corridor to Estrella's room and knock lightly. The door opens, and she looks at me curiously despite the tiredness I can see in her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asks, and I nod.

"I want to see Will right now. I've got to tell him."

Estrella rubs her temples and closes her eyes. Then, she cracks them open, looking at me with an expression that tells me she is trying to make sense of this situation and is failing miserably.

"Why now? Why not wait?"

Curbing my exasperation I whisper quickly, "Please, I just need to see him. We have to make a plan, and I need you to come along," I pause, and then rush on, "Unless of course you'd rather I go alone."

Estrella's eyes narrow as she protests, "Of course I don't want you to go alone! I'd never want you to go alone, no matter what condition you were in. You haven't gone – Oh, never mind. Call the carriage and the footman, and I'll meet you downstairs. If he asks any questions just let me deal with him."

The footman gives me no trouble except for swearing loudly when I shake him awake. He quickly, albeit groggily, harnesses the horses and hooks them up to the carriage before bringing it around to the front of the house, all the while mumbling under his breath about the late hour. Estrella imparts to him where we would like to go, and then we are off. The streets are vacant, and the pub we pass is oddly more subdued than I have ever seen it before. When we arrive at the blacksmith's shop Estrella raps on the carriage roof, and we jerk to a stop. She lets me out first, and I wait for her as she speaks to the driver.

"We'll be ten minutes at the most. Just drive around a bit, and come back for us. Be sure to be on time."

I point to the alley leading around the side of the building as Estrella comes up behind me. She puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly.

"We'll go in through the back. I'm positive the shop is closed by now, and I'd hate to have to explain to Mr. Brown what I'm doing here so late."

We make our way through the dark alley stepping carefully so as not to slip on the damp cobblestones. We mount the stairs leading up to the second floor and let ourselves in. Footsteps come from Will's room, and Estrella and I look at each other.

"Mr. Brown, is that you?"

It is Will's voice. A yellow glow lights up the space between his closed door and the floor, and then the door is flung open, and Will sticks his head out, a candle in one hand. It hardly lights a yard around him, and he squints into the darkness attempting to make out our dark figures at the end of the corridor.

"Sir?"

"It's me, Will," I say, and Estrella pushes me forward slightly.

I look back at her, willing her to follow me, but she shakes her head. This is a journey I must make on my own she seems to say with just a nod of her head. I step forward hesitantly.

"Elizabeth? What are you doing here?"

I do not answer his question right away.

"Will, can we go inside? I'll explain everything there."

"All right."

I follow the light and his retreating shadow into the room. He shuts the door behind me, and then tilts his candle to light a lantern on the table nearby. Immediately the room brightens, and I am able to see his face for the first time. His brows furrow together as he glances at me before tiredly lowering himself into a chair next to the table. I remain standing in the centre of the room with my arms criss-crossed across my stomach.

"You have to leave, Will, as soon as you can," I blurt out without pretense.

Will looks up and squints as though somehow that will make my words more comprehensible to him. He shakes his head.

"We can't leave right at this moment, Elizabeth, it's just not possible. We still have to wait one more week before our ship leaves."

His misunderstanding cuts me like a knife, and I take a shaky breath before continuing.

"Will, I can't go with you anymore."

There is a beat of heavy silence between us in which Will stares at me in utter confusion.

"I don't understand . . ." he says slowly, his eyes searching mine wildly as though that will reveal the answer to my sudden pronouncement. "You don't want to do this anymore? Is that it?"

I am not sure what he means by _this_, and I tighten my hold on my stomach instinctively. A lump is forming in my throat that I cannot swallow down, and any moment I am sure I will burst into tears. I move toward his hunched form and take one of his calloused hands in mine. Words are building up in the back of my mouth, and suddenly they tumble out in a waterfall before I can stop and sort them out.

"I _want_ to, Will," I say, every syllable stressing my love and devotion to the man sitting hunched before me, "but I . . . I-I'm going to have a baby."

Will stands up abruptly, and his fingers close around my hand tightly. A light, perhaps of hope, brightens in his eyes briefly before being blown out. The smile on his face fades just as quickly and leaves behind a look of bleak despair.

"It's yours," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion, "It has to be. You're the only one I- You're the only one."

He swallows hard and looks down at his hand clasped over mine. I press it flat against the space just below my ribcage, but even that action is devoid of the hope I had longed to feel between us. There is no flutter, no spark to suggest that something has been created between us. Will's hand balls into a fist, and it falls to his side as he looks away.

"Why won't you let me stay?" he says quietly, a hurt edge to his voice.

"They'd hang you," I whisper, almost terrified to admit it.

Will sits down heavily in his chair again, and I drop down beside him immediately with one hand on his knee and the other reaching up to gently touch his face. His cheeks are wet when my fingertips brush over them, and when he turns his face toward me again his eyes are glazed over with unshed tears. My heart breaks then, and I bury my face in my hands to hide my own tears. For some time we sit this way, two grief-stricken people frozen in a moment and slowly thawing to a reality that falls upon us like rain, melting away our expectations and leaving puddles and reflections of a previous life in its wake. As our tears subside into bitter complacency Will speaks hoarsely into the silence.

"I'll leave tomorrow then," he says reluctantly, "It will be easier for me to go without you. I will make my way to the colonies and wait for you there."

I nod, and a pang of sorrow at the thought of his absence shoots through me.

"I will come as soon as I can," I promise, my thumb tracing the groove between the knuckles on his left hand, "in a year or so perhaps."

"And I'll write to you," he says in return, his voice growing stronger with each vow we make to each other.

"That's it then."

He nods and stands up again reaching down to help me to my feet. Our faces are inches away from each other, and I close my eyes to memorise the way his hands feel on my waist. He kisses me gently, our lips barely brushing against one another. More than anything I wish for his lips to crash against mine, to devour the very air I breathe as it escapes my lips, but the passion within me dies in that instant. We move apart, emotionally spent, and wanting nothing more than to be somewhere in the unforeseeable future.

"Can you meet me tomorrow at the docks just before sunrise?" he asks, his hands lingering mere inches from my body.

"Of course," I reply, and he dips his head to kiss me again in parting.

Without another word I move away from him, loitering in the doorway to gaze on his darkened silhouette before making my way back down the corridor. Estrella is no longer waiting for me, so I make my way downstairs to the carriage. She says nothing when I enter but instead reaches for my hand to hold it tenderly in her own. The small gesture is what I need, and I am asleep next to her before we arrive back at the mansion.

**Authoress' Note:** I'm terribly sorry for the extremely long hiatus between my last post and this one. Uni became very demanding midway through the term, and I spent my Christmas holidays with family (so obviously nothing got done then). I'm not even sure if anyone is reading this anymore, so be sure to give me a shout in a review so I know people are still interested. Of course, I will do my best in this new term to update more frequently.


	18. Till It Be Morrow

**TILL IT BE MORROW**

"_Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorry,/That I shall say good night till it be morrow." – Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet_

I awaken much later in the darkness of my own room, and immediately a panic sets in as I throw off the bed covers and run to the window and pull aside the heavy curtain. Outside the deep gloom of night greets me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Estrella stirs from where she lies fast asleep in one of the armchairs situated around the hearth in my bedroom. The clock on the mantelpiece suggests there is hardly an hour or so left until sunrise, and I quickly dress in a fresh gown before waking Estrella with a gentle shake to the shoulder. Her head jerks upward as she is startled from sleep. She looks around wildly, lost in these unfamiliar surroundings.

"Estrella, it's time. Would you like to come with me? You don't have to. I shant be very long."

Estrella nods groggily and shifts to a more comfortable position in the armchair. She waves her hand at me ambiguously.

"Go on," she murmurs, "Tell Mr. Turner-"

She falls silent, and I begin to ask her what she means to tell William, but then I realise she has already fallen asleep again. I tuck a strand of her hair back into place, gazing at her tired face, and then without another look back I leave her. The footman is not happy to be woken up so early after such a late night. Though he grumbles darkly to himself he cannot refuse me, and he makes our drive into town a hasty one.

A small slope runs from the main road down to the docks at the harbour. Not much farther from where the carriage sits at the top of this slope the fort is situated on the rocky cliff overlooking the bright Caribbean Sea. From our vantage point I spot William sitting alone at the docks, a knapsack by his side. When he notices my arrival he pushes himself up and waits patiently for me to make my way slowly down to him. Lit lamps flicker in the still darkness of pre-dawn as a wind causes the ocean waves to slap boats in their moorings against the dock. William and I are alone, but I know that will not be for long. In mere minutes this place will be swarming with seamen preparing to make their journeys abroad.

"You're all ready then?" I ask as he nears, nodding at the knapsack he has left sitting at the dock. My voice is calm, even casual. I sound like a housewife seeing her husband off to work, a maiden sending her sweetheart to sea. It is all a façade after all. This charade we are putting on is more for ourselves than anyone else.

"As ready as I will ever be," William replies putting on a brave smile for my sake. In a matter of seconds we have become masters of deception, and if I block out all thoughts from my mind it is possible that I can even deceive myself.

We watch as a sailor on a nearby ship props open a hatch on the deck and lumbers out to greet the dawn that is growing in the east. He stretches copiously and glances at us only briefly before setting to work. With the sun's rays peering over the horizon already I know it will not be long before our farewells must be said. Already our farce is cracking at the edges like an oil painting over time. Will and I press our foreheads together, standing close in the cool morning air. Will seems to be waiting for me to speak.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," I say quietly, and never before have the oft-quoted words been so true. William turns his face to me with a wistful smile on his lips that fades in a moment.

"I see no sweetness here," he replies sadly, gesturing around us, "only the bitterness of parting from you."

"Do not say so," I cry, placing a hand on my abdomen, "Is _this_ not sweet?"

"Very much so," he concedes, and then he kisses me gently on the forehead, his warm hand cupping my chin. A rough thumb brushes against my lips, and I revel in this moment wondering how on earth I will be able to survive an entire year or more without such occurrences.

"Write to me as soon as you can," I urge, and he kisses me once more, this time on the cheek just next to my ear.

"You know I will," he whispers.

His breath sends a shiver down my spine, and I finally open my eyes to watch him as he makes his way back to the dock to retrieve his knapsack. He hoists it onto his shoulder, turns to me, and waves. I wave back, and for a moment Will is lost to me as the sun slips over the horizon and he is eclipsed in its rays. When the light and shadows have evened out he has disappeared from view.

By the time the carriage arrives back at the mansion the entire household is awake, including my father. I join him for breakfast, and though he asks where I have been I am able to quell his curiosity with the simple response that I went out for a morning ride. He seems to think that the morning air has done me some good, for my appetite has returned for the time being. His comment only serves to remind me that I must speak to him about the baby soon, but not so soon that he should be able to send out someone to look for Will. A week, perhaps more, is all I need.

**Authoress' Note:** It's wonderful to see so many people still interested in this story! :) Thanks for the reviews! In return I give you another, albeit short, chapter. I apologise for the poor quality of dialogue – I know it sounds a little silly, but I hope it doesn't detract too much from the chapter as a whole. Longer and better chapters are coming, I promise.


	19. Only the Beginning

**ONLY THE BEGINNING**

I pause with my hand held up to the study door ready to knock. Staring directly ahead until my eyes bore into the stained grain of the wood I inhale deeply to calm the storm of anxiety raging in my stomach. My heart is beating somewhere up in my throat, and it hurts to swallow. The wood grain goes fuzzy, and then I blink, and it is clear again. It feels as though I have been poised in this position for hours, days, weeks . . .

I do not understand why it should be this hard to simply bend my wrist and connect knuckle to wood. Yet, it is like preparing to take a terrifying leap and knowing that one self is about to feel that terrible swooping sensation during the fall. Or, it is like a bandage that has congealed to a wound and must be pulled off quickly, forcefully, and without hesitation. Either way, the action is unpleasant no matter how you go about it.

_What is the worst that could happen_? I trick myself, and my trembling hand knocks against the door. The hollow sound startles me from my reverie, and I fight the urge to turn on my heel and run. _Where to?_ It would be useless. I drop my hand by my side.

"Yes?"

My father's voice is business-like and stern. I can imagine him at his desk looking over official documents, dipping his feathered quill in ink, and signing them with a flourish. That is the business of every day, and _this_, is not. I wipe my clammy hands on the skirt of my gown and reply in a shaking voice.

"I-It's me, Papa. May I speak with you?"

"Of course! You know you do not have to ask permission. Come in!"

His voice has lost its business-like quality and has been replaced by a quiet amusement. I can almost hear him chuckling to himself over the fact that his own daughter asked permission to speak with him. I blanch at his nonchalance and push open the door. The threshold sits before me like an uncharted country beckoning me into its wilderness. This is my last chance to turn and run . . . Before I even have time to think I step inside and pull the door closed behind me. It slams shut and echoes loudly in the small room.

"Elizabeth!"

I lean back against the door, and the breath I have been holding comes out in a rush.

"Sorry," I mumble as I begin my long trek from the door to the chair in front of his desk. If I do not sit down soon I fear I shall faint. Already the pounding in my temple has begun. I pick my way carefully through the excess furniture and slowly lower myself into the chair opposite the desk. My hands flutter slightly in my lap, and I clasp them tightly, as though praying, to keep them from moving.

Father is no longer paying attention. He is looking over a long roll of parchment, and for the moment he seems to have forgotten me. I take these few precious seconds to compose in my mind exactly what it is I wish to say. He glances up at me finally as though realising that I am still in the room waiting to speak with him. He draws his eyebrows together as he contemplates me, and I feel as though he can see right through me.

"I have heard the most interesting news this morning," he says, and I can tell that he wishes me to inquire about this piece of news.

"Yes?" I ask, finding my voice after a brief silence.

"Mr. Brown, the blacksmith you know, has been inquiring about the whereabouts of his apprentice, Mr. William Turner. He's been missing for several days now apparently, perhaps even longer than that. No one seems to know where he went, and it's all very odd. What do you think of that?"

He sits back in his chair studying me as though expecting me to give an answer that will either please or astound him. In all honesty I am more surprised by the fact that they did not discover William's disappearance sooner.

"Well?"

I meet my father's eyes that are glittering with intrigue? Amusement? Knowledge? My stomach flips, and my hands tighten their grip on one another. I clear my throat, but when I speak my tongue feels thick and dry.

"It is interesting," I manage, and a slight frown appears at the corners of my father's lips.

Perhaps he can sense that something is wrong, as he leans forward in his chair this time, his eyes searching mine.

"Elizabeth, are you all right? You look slightly feverish," he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I shake my head and look down at my hands wringing themselves into knots in my lap.

"You're not all right?" he asks in order to clarify my nod.

I lift my head in anguish.

"No, I am not," I say quietly, watching as my father's face grows more troubled, "I-I've been meaning to tell you that I'm going to have a . . . baby."

The last word slips out in a whisper that hangs in the air between us like a fog hanging over a city. My breath hitches in my throat as I watch Papa comprehend these words. It is taking much longer than I expected, and each second eats away at my nerves. Perhaps he cannot even comprehend them at all.

"I'm sorry," he says finally, shaking his head like an old elephant shaking away an annoying fly, "I don't think I understood you. You're going to-"

"-have a baby. Yes," I finish for him, my voice quiet but stronger than before.

He stares at me for a moment, stunned. When he speaks his voice is deathly quiet. "And who is the father?"

I swallow hard feeling more unnerved by the minute. It is impossible to read the mask that is Father's face. I duck my head and focus my eyes on my hands clasped in my lap.

"William Turner," I say quietly.

"Good God, Elizabeth, how _could_ you?"

I wince slightly at his words. Hearing the disappointment and shame in his voice is like a slap, and it stings my heart just as badly. Tears, long suppressed, press at the backs of my eyes, and I look up again, following my father as he paces the space behind his desk. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment and closes his eyes. I gulp down a sob, and he gives me a fleeting look before shaking his head and resuming his pacing. Finally he stops and turns toward me again. Despite the fact that he is behind the desk it still feels as though he looms over me.

"What am I supposed to tell James?" he hisses angrily, "Did you even stop to think about that?"

"I have broken no vows," I whisper, but this only serves to make him more furious.

"You have broken faith with all of us, Elizabeth," my father spits out pointing at the ring on my left hand, "It would take a miracle for James to take you back after what you have done. Do you understand that?"

I do not respond, my bottom lip quivering steadily. My father takes an even breath, swipes the grey wig off his head, and runs a hand through his shortened hair.

"You will have to tell him," he says more to himself than to me, "I will call him here right away, and you will work something out with him. Either he will have you or he will not."

He makes his way toward the door, and when I stand up to follow him he turns to me with a heated expression on his face.

"Sit down, and do not move from that chair," he growls, and I immediately take my seat again. He strides from the room and slams the door behind him. Alone now, I let the tears and sobs I have held within me for the past few minutes flow unchecked while I wait for James and my father to return.

**Authoress' Note: **Thanks so much for all the reviews over the past few days! It's been wonderful seeing such familiar names again. I hope this puts some of you at ease – as you can see Elizabeth will not attempt to convince James that the baby is his.


	20. The Plight of Honourable Men

**THE PLIGHT OF HONOURABLE MEN**

"You're sure you don't want to come, James?"

I look up at Andrew who is waiting for me expectantly with his hand on the door handle. He smiles, and the tempting offer hangs between us. It has been some time since I have allowed myself to go out with my comrades for a drink after work at the fort is finished. Unfortunately, the work never seems to be finished for me. I shake my head and hold up a hand.

"Thanks for the offer, Andrew, but I can't. These papers aren't going to get read and signed by themselves."

I motion toward the pile of parchment that I have allowed to grow so prolifically that it has almost overflowed onto the rest of my desk. Andrew shrugs with a wry grin on his face.

"You work too hard, James," he says.

"Someone has to," I respond, and Andrew nods.

"Suit yourself."

He shuts the door behind him, and I settle back into my chair for a moment to think. It is true that I work too hard and perhaps too much. After all, I am one of the youngest Commodores in the Navy, and I didn't get where I am today without hard work. But what's been the sacrifice? Friendship, family, a wife . . . I shake my head and pick up the first scroll of parchment. I try to read the words set before me, but I find myself reading the same line over and over again. Someone knocks at the door, and I put down the parchment already grateful for another distraction.

"Yes, come in," I call, clearing my desk.

A young man wearing the colours of the Governor's house enters, wringing his hat in his hand. He swallows hard and nods his head at me in greeting. There is a nervousness about him that forebodes bad news.

"Sir, the Governor wishes to see you right away. It's urgent he says or else he wouldn't have sent for you at such a late hour."

I stand up, taking my coat off the chair back, and pulling it on hastily.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, my mind immediately envisioning Elizabeth in some state of harm or distress.

"I dunno, Sir. He didn't say nothin' about it to me. Just sent me on my way."

"Right," I say gritting my teeth and following him out of the fort.

Just as I am about to call for my own horse one of the Governor's carriages pulls up, and the young footman opens the door for me. I thank him and step inside pulling the door shut behind me. In a few seconds we are off at a jolting pace as though all of hell were following at our heels. When we arrive at the Governor's mansion it is nearly dark, and I bound up the steps toward the open door where Estrella stands waiting. She gives me a sympathetic look when our eyes meet, and I know immediately that she has some idea of what is going on.

The entry hall is empty, and after Estrella closes the door behind me she moves about the darkened room lighting candles. Immediately, a soft glow floods the room casting eerie shadows onto the walls. I pace the floor wondering where the Governor and Elizabeth could be. I implore Estrella to say something, but she remains silent. I do not know what I expected to find when I arrived here, but it is not this. The house is much too silent.

Finally, the Governor exits his study closing the door carefully behind him. When he looks at me his face is grave, and it feels as though water has frozen into ice in my stomach. He motions toward the study door without a word, and I move toward it cautiously. I open the door and look to him again, but he shakes his head. He will not follow me, and so I enter alone.

My eyes immediately gravitate toward Elizabeth who sits in one of the chairs facing her father's desk with her head bowed. She does not hear me enter, but as I near her head jerks up, and I am taken aback by the tear stains on her cheeks and the redness of her swollen eyes. She swipes the back of her hand across them and takes a wavering breath.

"Elizabeth?" I ask quietly, reaching out a hand to place on her shoulder.

She pulls away as my fingertips brush against her bare skin and meets my concerned gaze with one that speaks of anguish and acute despair. She blinks, her face hardening as she brushes almost agitatedly at a stray strand of hair that has escaped its proper place. I can see that she is on the verge, the precipice, of speaking, and after a few seconds of internal struggle, she does.

"I'm going to have a baby."

I stare at her, unblinking, unsure of whether I have heard her correctly. Of all the things she could have said to me I was hardly expecting _this_. She stares back at me, and there is no mistaking the truth in the raw emotion displayed on her face. I swallow hard and clasp my hands behind my back in an attempt to keep some semblance of dignity, whatever may remain, between us.

"How –" I close my eyes and take a deep breath, "How long have you known?"

"Almost a month," she says, and my stomach plummets.

I try to keep my face a mask, emotionless, but it is impossible to do so when William Turner's face materialises in my mind's eye. I clench my hands involuntarily behind my back while attempting to keep my voice steady.

"Is the father William Turner? Is that why he left?"

Elizabeth looks down at her hands, which are grasped so tightly together that the knuckles are white against the dark cloth of her skirts.

"Partly," she confesses, her voice barely a breath above a whisper, "I- I was afraid you would- I was afraid you would hang him."

Her fear, voiced aloud, sounds ridiculously childish, and Elizabeth knows it. She turns her face away as a burning blush creeps into her cheeks. I bite back an uncharacteristically cold laugh that has somehow lodged itself in my throat.

"Adultery, yes," I say, looking down at my shoes, "I suppose that could warrant a hanging. You've lost Mr. Turner either way-" I stop, mindful of the way my words seem to work at something within Elizabeth.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, "I shouldn't have-"

Elizabeth suddenly twists the ring off her left hand and holds it out to me. I look down at it, surprised, and thoroughly taken aback. She shakes it as though bidding me to take it, but I take a step backward away from her instead.

"I never said I was _not_ going to marry you," I say, "I consider myself to be an honourable man, Elizabeth, and any promise I make I intend to keep no matter what the circumstances."

She looks up at me confused. I take her hand gently and slip the ring back on. She stares down at it for a few seconds, and the looks back up at me.

"People will talk."

Her tone is neutral, but I can feel her resistance in it.

"Let them talk," I respond with indifference, "No one but us need know the truth."

"Yet somehow, I am sure, the truth will come out."

Her eyebrow is arched now, a signal that she is testing me, attempting to see when I will break and bend to her will. I cannot let her go so easily, however, not after all the effort I have put into having her in the first place.

"Then so be it. We will simply deal with it when the matter arises."

There is nothing left for her to say. She is not wholly defeated, but I can see that I have broken through something. I have chipped away at Elizabeth's veneer of loathing. I move toward the door assuming our interview to be at a stalemate, if not, an end. Abruptly Elizabeth stands up just as I reach the door.

"How can you take this so calmly?" she cries, and in her voice I hear her own confusion and fear and frustrations. I long to put my arms around her, to kiss her, and tell her that every thing will be fine. But I cannot, because it is not my child that she carries within her, and I cannot pretend that it is. I let my guard slip slightly, allowing my own disappointment and sadness to seep into my words.

"I am anything but calm, Elizabeth, please know that."

She breaks into tears just as the door shuts behind me. I take a deep breath to block out the wretched sound and straighten my coat in an attempt to have some kind of control over this situation. I notice the Governor watching me from across the hall. He turns away when I look at him and pretends to study a painting on the wall. Deep shame emanates from him in waves and is nearly as overwhelming as the raw emotion coming from Elizabeth in the other room.

"Sir?"

Governor Swann looks up, pretending to be startled. He gives me a tight smile and does not hold my gaze for long but looks away and clears his throat.

"I'm going to marry her, Sir."

He nods, acknowledging that he has heard me, and suddenly I realise that he too is crying. Tears spill down his cheeks, and with a trembling lip he shakes my hand and murmurs, "Thank you. Bless you."

As I leave, much heavier than when I arrived, I do not feel blessed in any way. If anything, I feel cursed for being such an honourable man.

**Authoress' Note: **First, I love using the title of the story within the story. As a reader I always get excited when I see that. Second, you all know Norrington far too well. Third, thus ends the first part of the story, and thus begins the second part – what a long journey it will be. :)


	21. The Father and His Daughter

Part II

**THE FATHER AND HIS DAUGHTER**

Life seems oddly distorted when I awaken the next morning. At first I can hardly believe that I told Father about the baby, and for a moment, as I shake off the remnants of sleep I almost convince myself that I did not. My head is clear and my stomach calm as Estrella helps me to dress. The reality of the situation does not become painfully clear until I make my way down to breakfast.

Father is hunched over the morning paper, cradling a cup of steaming tea in his hand. He glances up as I enter the room but does not meet my eyes. Even when I sit down next to him his gaze remains fixed to the print on the page in front of him though I can see that his eyes are not moving. There is a crease of worry or discontent in his forehead, and it deepens further until it is suddenly hidden by Father turning his head to look out the window. I pour myself some tea and feel the hard lump that signals the onset of tears forming in my throat.

"Father?" I ask, my voice straining as I attempt to hold back the sobs welling within me.

He does not turn his head or even acknowledge my presence, and I swallow hard to keep myself from bursting into tears.

"Papa?"

He breaks then and whips his face around. There are tears glistening in his eyes, but for the first time that morning he looks at me. I give him a watery smile and reach for his hand to give it a light squeeze. His hand is limp in mine, and he does not return the smile despite my efforts.

"Papa, you cannot ignore it," I say quietly, my chin quivering from repressing the emotion building up within me again.

His face remains stern and mask-like, a complete contrast to the tears still glistening in his eyes and threatening to spill over. He lifts his chin higher as though trying to keep himself from breaking further. His coldness cuts me to the core. Unable to contain myself any longer I burst into tears, stifling a sob and covering my face with my hands all at once.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry . . ."

I barely hear him over my weeping, and hiccupping slightly, I gulp down air to keep myself from sobbing further. There are tears on Father's cheeks now, shining in the morning light seeping from the open windows, but his eyes are shining with love.

"I'm sorry," he says again, reaching for my hands, "I am disappointed with everything that has happened. Yes, I am saddened," seeing the shamed look on my face he nods almost sternly again, "but that cannot stop me from loving you. You are my only daughter, and you will be married soon. This should be a happy time."

He wipes at the tears still streaming down my cheeks and leans forward to kiss my forehead gently. I hold onto his wrists as he places his hands on my cheeks, and I smile at him through my tears.

"Thank you, Papa."

He smiles back and kisses me again. I let him go, and he straightens up, watching me with his forehead creased in loving concern as though I were a little girl who had simply miss stepped and taken a fall.

"No more tears, my dear," he says, and I nod, laughing weakly as I wipe the rest of the tears from my cheeks.

He folds up the newspaper, ponders it for a second longer, and then stands up and makes his way toward the door. Suddenly a question comes to my mind that I have been meaning to ask all night.

"Papa, may I ask you a question?"

Father pauses in the doorway and looks back at me.

"Anything, my dear."

"Papa, what would Mother think if she were here right now?"

The deep furrows in my father's brow immediately return, and his bright eyes cloud over. He stares off at something that I cannot see and several seconds pass. Suddenly he seems to rouse himself from a reverie, and when he looks at me again he seems surprised to still see me sitting at the table expectantly waiting for an answer.

"I do not rightly know, Elizabeth. Not now anyway."

He turns on his heel then to go in the direction of his study. I follow his retreating back with my eyes and notice him shake his head as though unsatisfied with the answer he has given. I could have expected no less considering the circumstances. I certainly had not expected praise or pride. At any rate, I have more to worry about than the opinion of my deceased mother. It takes less than two days before the news itself has made its way around Port Royal.

**Authoress' Note: **I'm so glad all of you enjoyed the first part! I hope this one will keep you similarly engaged. :) Sorry for the short chapter, by the way. It's been a busy week, and I didn't have time to do any editing on the next one. I hope this will tide you over till then. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	22. Hosea

**Authoress' Note: **Just so reading this chapter isn't confusing – the page break (denoted by -) does shift the pov from Elizabeth to James. Some of my readers have been confused over the pov changes, and I admit I haven't been very consistent about marking them. Sorry!

**HOSEA**

"_When the LORD began to speak through Hosea, the LORD said to him, "Go, take to yourself an adulterous wife and children of unfaithfulness, because the land is guilty of the vilest adultery in departing from the LORD." – Hosea 1:2_

"Miss, there's no need to be nervous," Estrella says as she places a gentle hand on my shaking leg underneath the skirts of my gown. I stop the shaking but immediately begin chewing the inside of my lip. She sees this as well and _tsks_ at me like a mother hen until I stop.

"That's simple enough for you to say, Estrella," I say, my voice slightly more high pitched than usual, "You're not carrying a child out of wedlock."

Estrella gives me a pointed look that says I shouldn't complain about the choices _I_ made, and that sobers me instantly.

"Naturally, people will talk," she says tersely, "There's nothing you can do to stop gossip except not to add to it or promote it yourself. You're carrying a child, not the bubonic plague. You have every right to go to church as the next person."

She mutters something darkly to herself and leans over to take a peek out of the drawn curtains. I clasp my hands tightly together in my lap still nervous about the entire ordeal. The carriage rolls to a stop, and the door is thrown open by the footman who takes my hand and helps me down. There are few people outside of the church, and they pay little attention to Estrella and I. My anxiety eases somewhat, fueled by their disinterest that is, until we enter the church.

Churchgoers already lined up in their pews turn instantly at the sound of the grating doors opening at the back of the church. Normally they would turn around again after discovering the source of the noise, but this time their eyes remain fixed on me, staring as we hasten down the aisle. A rush of whispering sweeps through the room, and there is a collective shift of movement as people prod and poke one another in order to nod or point at me when they think I am not looking. Heat burns my cheeks, but I keep my head up and my eyes trained on the back of my father's head as we move toward him. Sitting down beside him I let out my breath in a rush and close my eyes to keep the tears from flowing. I will not cry in front of these people. I will not give them that satisfaction.

The congregation shifts again, and I open my eyes as Reverend Collins takes his place at the pulpit. Finally able to relax I allow my mind to wander through out the service catching bits and pieces of the liturgy and songs for the day until I hear the word I have been dreading to hear: adultery. My head jerks up at its utterance, and my eyes meet the Reverend's for a split second before he looks out toward the rest of his flock of white sheep dotted here and there with the black sheep of sin.

"Adultery," the Reverend says again, pausing for emphasis, "The Lord said in His seventh commandment that 'thou shalt not commit adultery', and yet our Gospel for this morning preaches the story of the prophet Hosea who took as his wife the adulteress, Gomer . . ."

The Reverend continues to tell the story of how even after Gomer had committed adultery numerous times Hosea still loved her and forgave her just as the Lord had forgiven Israel for its sins. The words, the story, everything is meant for me, and I do not know what to do with it. The service ends, and I stand up in a daze, completely unaware of the people around me. Then I see him, James, my very own Hosea, sitting alone at the back of the church with his head bowed and his face buried in his hands. For a moment, as we pass by, I wonder how he fares. But only for a moment.

_Have I done the right thing?_ I wonder as I watch Elizabeth from the back of the church. The story of Hosea and Gomer seems to have her riveted, and I wonder what she could be thinking. Does she realise that this is all for her? When the service is over I bury my face in my hands so that she will not see me. But now, in this darkness I am alone with my thoughts, and again I wonder, _have I done the right thing?_

I do not claim to be a holy man whose every action is guided by God. No one could or should claim such a thing. Yet, I love this woman despite her unfaithfulness, despite her disdain for me. Perhaps this is a test of faith. Perhaps this is a test of the human spirit. Or perhaps I am simply skilled at making my own purgatory.

Do I really believe that I have the strength or the will power to change the mind of a woman so deeply in love with another man? It seems to be an impossible task, and it is sure to be full of frustrations. It will take time. It will take patience. Most importantly it will take every ounce of Elizabeth's will to forgive me as I have already forgiven her. The forgiveness itself was not easy, but I suppose I am a Hosea in the respect that my love for her was greater than any other grudge I could have held. I _have_ done the right thing, or at least, the right thing will prevail in the end.

I draw my hands away from my face and open my eyes to find Reverend Collins watching me from across the room. We are alone now, and he smiles at me kindly.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asks.

I nod and stand up.

"Yes, thank you. I did."

**Authoress' Note Part Deux: **Ok, so sometimes I feel like I shouldn't have to explain myself for some of the ideas, actions, etc. that take place within my story, but this time I feel I owe you one. I'm sure some of you know I am a Christian, and I do enjoy putting Biblical references in my writing. This is the first time I have done so in a more literal context. Obviously, however, the story of Hosea isn't just about God calling Hosea to marry an adulterous woman (historically, she was a prostitute). There's a metaphor there about the people of Israel worshipping false idols instead of worshipping the Lord, as they should. That isn't the reference I am trying to make here. Hosea had doubts that Gomer would change her ways once they were married, and he struggled a lot with what God was asking him to do. That's the connection. You can read this in a religious context if you want to, but it was basically to show the struggle James goes through with his own decision to marry Elizabeth when he knows she does not love him.


	23. Heart of Gold That Lost Its Pride

**HEART OF GOLD THAT LOST ITS PRIDE**

I turn on my heel then and leave the church. My carriage is waiting outside ready to take me to Andrew's house. I have much to speak with him about. It is a long journey to the small two story stone house once owned by an English planter on the outskirts of Port Royal. I pass my own house on the way, a mansion far up on the hill and much too large for one man to live in. Such is the fate of the privileged and wealthy it seems.

A half hour later the stone chateau with the darkly tiled roof appears, and the carriage rumbles to a stop in front. There is a vegetable garden next to the walk, and I cannot help admiring the simplicity in which Andrew and Rachel live. Andrew's modest income as a lieutenant allows them to live in such a house but requires that they have no servants. It is an odd situation to imagine, although they seem blissfully content with their lot.

The front door opens before I even have the chance to knock, and Rachel immediately envelops me in a warm embrace.

"I just happened to see your carriage pull up as I was coming downstairs," she says breathlessly, "and I couldn't for the life of me think what you'd be doing all the way out here. Is it Andrew you want to see?"

She looks at me expectantly as I am ushered into the house. Completely overwhelmed by her joyful greeting I am unsure of how to respond for the moment. Always patient, Rachel leads me into a modest sitting room and gently pushes me down into a chair.

"_Is_ Andrew here?" I finally ask. The house is so quiet that it seems as though Rachel and I may be the only souls here.

"Aye, he's out in the garden. Wait a moment, and I'll go out and fetch him. Would you like some tea as well? It'd take only a minute to brew."

"Tea sounds wonderful," I say, and Rachel gives me another smile and leaves the room.

A few minutes later a door slams and loud footsteps echo on the tile floor.

"James, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit?" Andrew booms, shaking my hand vigorously. He swipes a rolled up shirt sleeve across his forehead, which shines with sweat.

Before I can answer Rachel bustles into the room carrying a tray with small china teacups and a matching teapot. She sets it carefully on the tea table and begins to pour for everyone. When we have all settled back into our seats, Rachel and Andrew across from me, Andrew says, "Well then?"

I take a sip of tea and set the cup down on the table, avoiding the earnest gazes of my friends.

"I'm sure you've heard about Elizabeth," I say carefully.

A heavy silence falls between us and is broken only when Rachel clears her throat.

"Yes," she says quietly, "but we didn't want to believe it. I mean, it isn't true, is it James?"

"I wish it were not," I say heavily, and Rachel puts a hand to her mouth, her face shocked.

Andrew shakes his head.

"I'm sure you're glad to be shot of her. If I'd been betrothed to her I would have broken it off in an instant. Of course, I'm sure that's what you've done."

I remain silent, and Andrew's eyes widen as his eyebrows disappear into the fringe of his hair.

"James, you didn't-"

"I had no choice, Andrew," I reason, cutting him off, "I love her! I couldn't just throw her away and let her suffer on her own!"

"But she's betrayed you, James! She doesn't even love you in return!"

"Andrew!" Rachel cries angrily. He backs down, looks at his wife sheepishly, and then looks down at his feet.

Rachel reaches across the table and takes my free hand in her own giving it a gentle squeeze.

"We're here for you James," she says sincerely, "We will support you and Elizabeth no matter what. Right, Andrew?"

Andrew is silent for a minute. Eventually he nods, although his arms remained crossed over his chest.

"Sorry, James," he says, "It's none of my business anyway. I had no right-"

"Andrew, please, it's all right."

He nods and gives me a wane smile. Rachel smiles at both of us and drops her hand before gulping down more tea.

"The wedding is still on, then?" she asks, and I nod.

"We've got two weeks or so to go."

"We'll be there, James," Andrew says gruffly.

"I know," I reply, "you always have been."

**Authoress' Note:** Sorry for the lack of updates – busy, busy, busy! Anyway, thanks for all of the faves and reviews – I eat them up like nobody's business. :P Also, I'm so glad you enjoyed the Biblical references. Your responses were encouraging, and I couldn't be more appreciative!


	24. Great Expectations

**GREAT EXPECTATIONS**

"Thank you for coming," I say to Elizabeth as she enters through the front door of my house, soon-to-be _our_ house, for the first time, "I know my parents are probably the last people you want to see right now."

She nods silently, perhaps because she is nervous, as her eyes sweep the front hall. Her eyes rest on the open door to my study, and then she takes a step forward to peer into the sitting room to the left. I watch her uncomfortably.

"I know it's not what you're used to," I offer, and Elizabeth turns back around.

"It's lovely, James," she says kindly.

"Oh," I breathe, taken aback, "Wonderful then. I thought I would show you some of the new furniture I just purchased for your room. I'm not very good at those sorts of things you know, but Anne assured me you would like it."

Elizabeth remains silent and watchful, and I find myself talking frantically to fill the void. She follows me up the stairs and down the corridor to the left.

"This is your half of the house I suppose. The library is downstairs next to the study. There is also a guest quarter, kitchen, and dining room down there as well. You saw the sitting room of course, and this," I push open one of the closed doors, "is your room."

It is a quaint room decorated in pale pinks and greens and blues. A four-poster bed sits against the far wall so that the sunlight from the open windows falls across the rosy linen in sheets. A stained wooden chest sits at the end of the bed, and opposite it is a vanity and looking glass. A china lamp sits on one of the two bedside tables situated on either side of the bed.

"You can arrange it any way you would like once you move your own personal items in," I say, and Elizabeth nods, running her hand over the bedspread and then sitting down. She gazes out of the window for a moment and finally speaks.

"I don't quite know what to say," she says, and there is a brief flash of guilt in her eyes, "Somehow I do not think I deserve all of this."

"Let's not discuss that now."

"And when can we discuss it?" she asks, anger laced in the edges of her voice. It amazes me how quickly her temper can flare.

"Any time but now. Not when my parents are due to arrive any minute."

I'm pleading with her now, and she knows it. She opens her mouth to argue, but then thinks better of it and becomes silent and brooding again. The chill of that silence spreads between us like thawing ice.

"And where will the baby sleep?"

I sigh inaudibly at her ability to go around the subject I have just forbidden us to discuss.

"In a few months, when the time comes, you can buy furniture for a nursery. For now there is an empty room set aside down the corridor just for the baby."

"And where do you sleep?" she asks bluntly, picking at a loose thread on the bed linen.

"Down the corridor, the first door to the left past the landing. Why? I didn't think you wanted to share a bedroom. That's why I furnished this room for you."

"I've got to be able to find my way to your room on our wedding night, haven't I?" she asks matter-of-factly, as though we were talking about something as uncomplicated as the weather.

I lower my voice, slightly embarrassed by her directness, and I gesture toward her. "At this point I do not think we're going to have a wedding night, Elizabeth. Surely you know that."

"Of course," she hisses back at me, anger flaring again, "there's no crime against simply sleeping in the same bed as my husband though, is there?"

Her question leaves me stunned for a moment. I had not expected that she would wish to share my bed, even if it is for just one night.

"No, there is no crime," I concede.

We stare at one another, and Elizabeth arches an eyebrow at me. Once again, she has won.

"Well, then, lead the way."

Flustered, I march down the corridor and open the door to my own bedroom. The room is cluttered with crumpled parchment, old teacups, and dirty laundry. The bed has not been made up since I last slept in it, and the wardrobe stands open. The only undisturbed area of the room is a rocking chair in the corner next to a bookshelf of battered novels and naval textbooks.

Elizabeth gazes around the room with a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as though something about this room were actually pleasing to her. Her eyes linger on the rocking chair, and she is about to take a step toward it when there is a booming knock on the front door. Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see through the mask of defiance that she has grown accustomed to wearing. She is truly frightened. Feeling bold, I reach toward her and put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. She shivers involuntarily at my touch, her eyes cast down, but does not jerk away.

"Everything will be fine. Don't worry."

My words seem to have some comforting power as Elizabeth relaxes and nods, taking in a deep breath to calm her self. I lead her down the stairs, the voices of my parents speaking to one another growing louder as we enter the dining room. Mother and Father are already seated at the heads of the table across from one another, and they look up at our arrival. They continue to stare as I help Elizabeth to her seat and pull out her chair for her. I walk quickly around the table and lower myself into the chair opposite hers just as Anne brings out the first dish.

The clink of cutlery against plates is almost unbearable until my father speaks up, his gaze purposefully directed at Elizabeth and away from my mother who immediately begins to glare at him.

"How are you feeling, Miss Swann? Are you well?" he asks.

Elizabeth looks up from her plate briefly to answer.

"Yes, I am well enough, thank you."

"Good, good," he says in a way that makes him sound as though her were discussing conditions for battle and not the health of a young woman. "Everything's set for the wedding then. No more last minute preparations?"

Now he looks up at my mother who has been silently fuming across the table. She smiles at him sweetly.

"Yes, I think everything is in order. There ss no need for you two to worry one bit. The day should go off without a hitch," she says cheerfully, and then turns toward Elizabeth and lowers her voice slightly, "It is wonderful that you won't have to alter your dress for the wedding, isn't it?"

Elizabeth blushes fiercely, but meets my mother's gaze with defiance as though daring her to bring up the subject of her wedding dress again. Her voice is tight, but strained, as she replies.

"It is wonderful."

My mother prattles on, and I can only pray that what comes out of her mouth will not offend.

"And it is even more so when one considers that James could have simply broken off the engagement. I think it's terribly heroic of him to marry you after you have slighted him so. I don't know many men who would, or any men who would for that matter-"

"Mother," I warn, but it is too late. I have allowed her to go too far already, and there is no stopping her from what I know she has been longing to say.

"I'm just saying that once you have had a woman dabble in those sorts of things, harlotry and the like, it _is_ difficult to break the habit. She'll be a hard one to control once that baby is born mark me."

"That's enough!"

Elizabeth jumps, startled, at the sound of my raised voice, and her fork clatters onto her plate. My mother's eyes narrow as she looks at me from across the table. My father, the coward, simply eats faster, shoveling food into his mouth.

"That's enough," I repeat, my voice softer but just as firm with anger, "I will not allow you to speak about my betrothed in such a manner in my own house. It is by the sheer fact that you are blood kin to me that I have invited you here. I assure you, I would not have done otherwise. Since you have arrived you have done nothing but antagonize Elizabeth, and I will not allow it any longer. Until you are able to treat her with the respect that she deserves as my soon-to-be wife and your soon-to-be daughter-in-law you will not be welcome in this house again."

A ringing stillness fills the room, like the calm before the storm. My mother stands up then, throwing down her napkin. She fixes me with a glare that could pierce through flesh, but I do not back down.

"So be it," she hisses, and without another word she snaps at my father who follows her out of the room like a puppy on the heels of its master. The front door slams shut setting the chandelier to shaking. Elizabeth continues to look down at her plate, and I unclench my hands, my fury from moments earlier evaporating into the air.

"You didn't have to do that."

Elizabeth's voice is soft and barely audible, but it is there. She looks up at me from across the table with hardened defiance in her eyes. Her reaction is not what I expected, and I am somewhat taken aback by her continued resistance to my help.

"It needed to be said," I reason, floundering under the unbearable abhorrence in her eyes, "I have been wanting to say something like that to her for years, and now that I have finally got the courage to do so you do not seem appreciate it. Isn't it my right as your soon-to-be husband to protect you from insults like that?"

"I don't need help," she counters, and I have to suppress a sigh at her worn out argument.

"I don't want to fight anymore, Elizabeth," I say, and perhaps she hears the weariness in my voice as her eyes soften, "I am simply doing what I know to be right, and if that is not good enough for you then I do not know what is."

I stand up, and she does the same as though she will stop me from leaving. I know she won't though. I move toward the door and look back once. Elizabeth is watching me, biting her lip, and looking somewhat torn. Between what, I do not know.

"I'm not William Turner," I concede, and her hardened mask slips further until her face crumples into a look of self-loathing.

"I know," she whispers, on the verge of tears.

"Then why don't you start acting like it?"

My tone, spiteful and cruel, is contorted beyond recognition. I turn on my heel then and call the carriage up to the front of the house. When I hand her up into it a few minutes later her eyes are red from crying again, and her hand trembles in mine. I hate to leave her in such a state, but in my heart I know that I cannot always be the one to give in. Where some couples marry for convenience, and some for love, we marry for the sake of conceding to one another. I have admitted to her that I understand I never was a part of her dream, but now I must wait for her to admit her own imperfection.


	25. Fallen Low, Lifted Up

**FALLEN LOW, LIFTED UP**

After the disastrous dinner with James' parents we seem to move in different spheres, he and I. Moving through the week before the wedding is like moving through water. Each step is deliberate and heavy and done without thought. An empty feeling settles within me the night before the wedding. I have hurt James. I know it, and yet I do not feel the same cold satisfaction I used to receive from my acts of defiance, and at times, blatant cruelty. I simply feel nothing.

Months and months ago, perhaps even years, before _this _baby and _that _marriage dominated my world, I could hardly see past the imperturbable front that James wore daily in the presence of my father and myself. I do not remember now when that transformation from brotherly and affectionate James to stiff and formal Captain occurred. Somehow I think it had something to do with Will, but it is impossible for me to put it down to one incident. We simply grew apart, trapped in our own separate realms of existence.

Somehow in the trials of these last few months another transformation has occurred, and I cannot yet tell whether it is James who has changed, or whether the conversion has come from within me. Even now I do not know the extent of it. All I know is that despite my love for Wiliam the compassionate, albeit chivalrous, actions of this man, this Commodore James Norrington, are thawing my heart, and I do not know how to stop it.

The very thought of it sweeps a wave of panic through me, and in the darkness of my room I feel trapped like an animal. I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest, and hug them to me as though becoming smaller will somehow quell the nausea I feel bubbling up. My mother's wedding gown, slightly altered, is draped over the screen in the corner, and a sliver of moonlight causes the gold silk and the beading to twinkle.

The urge to cry, to scream, to rage grows within me, but I know they would be useless actions. I am powerless to stop what will happen tomorrow. A full year, three hundred and sixty five days from now I will be with William once more, and that thought comforts me. Despite my anxiety over what the next few hours and days will bring that thought, that hope, grounds me, and I am finally able to fall asleep.

Too soon, a bright stream of sunlight slips through a crack in the heavy curtains and shines directly into my eyes. I blink rapidly and sit up gingerly. My lower back aches, and I rub at it absent-mindedly before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The clock on the wall tells me it is eight o'clock, two hours till the ceremony. At the sound of a light knocking on the door I open it, and Estrella bustles into the room carrying a breakfast tray.

"Estrella, I was just going down-" I say, but she cuts me off.

"You can't go down, dear," she says, pouring me tea and hastily buttering a piece of toast, "The Commodore is here eating breakfast with your father, and it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

I snort derisively, and Estrella gives me a stern look.

"I think it's obvious that we've already had our share of bad luck," I say and turn to leave the room.

Estrella is quick, however, as she shuts the door with her foot, thrusting a teacup into my hands at the same time. Hot tea splatters onto the floor, but Estrella does not seem to notice as she sets to work unlacing the back of my wedding gown. She looks up once to hurry me along.

"Come on then, eat up," she says, "We haven't got all day. We've still got to pack your trunk to be sent over to the Commodore's before you even think about putting this dress on."

I swallow down the toast without any trouble, but the smell of the tea causes my stomach to twist unexpectantly, and I dump it into a potted plant by the door when Estrella isn't looking. Leaving the rest of the breakfast tray untouched I kneel down next to the bed and drag a large trunk out from under it. Without a word to Estrella I open my bureau and take out all of the gowns inside before stacking them one on top of the other within the trunk. For the next hour Estrella and I move around one another in a blur as I collect items around the room and put them in the trunk while she takes them out again to fold and rearrange them satisfactorily. Only when the room is devoid of everything except the furniture are we finished.

I push the lid down on the trunk and snap it shut before sitting down on it tiredly. Estrella picks up the wedding gown and holds it up, giving it one last look over before asking, "Ready then?"

"As ready as I will ever be," I say in a resigned voice.

The gown fits perfectly, and I am at least thankful for that small miracle. Sitting at my vanity, Estrella does my hair and places the veil as the final touch. I peek out at her from behind a thin film of lace, and her face crumples into a tearful smile.

"You look beautiful, my dear, like an angel."

"A fallen one," I whisper, choking back my own tears.

"An angel nonetheless," Estrella counters, and I do not have the spirit to argue any further. She places both hands on my shoulders, squeezing them gently, and I shift around in my seat to embrace her.

"I'm going to miss you terribly," I say quietly, "Whatever will I do without you?"

"You will do what you have always done, Miss," Estrella reassures me, stroking my hair, "and I am sure you will find the servants at the Commodore's to be most agreeable."

"That's not what I'm afraid of," I whisper, and we draw apart, Estrella's eyes searching mine.

"What is it then?"

"I'm afraid of losing you as a friend."

Estrella's lip trembles, and I can see the burst of pride and love she feels for me in her eyes, and I know the love I feel for her is reflected in my own eyes. She says nothing, but nods to acknowledge that she is afraid of the very same. She kisses my forehead, her hand lingering on my cheek to wipe away a stray tear.

"It's not as though you will never see me again," she offers to ease the pain of parting, "and besides you will have many other things to occupy your time."

Her eyes sweep down to my flattened abdomen, and my stomach tightens. For a few brief moments I had allowed myself to forget, to escape, but it was useless. There is no escaping this. The clock downstairs chimes a quarter till, and Estrella's eyes meet mine.

"It's time," she says, and I nod. I glance back into the vanity mirror one more time and am momentarily shocked by the terrified bride and mother-to-be looking back at me.

**Authoress' Note: **Once again, sorry for the long wait! School became quite annoying recently, and I've just gone on spring holiday. I hope I'll have time to get a few chapters up to tide you over for a while, as I think school, work, etc. will only become more tedious from now till May. Thanks for your reviews and patience! :) Also, I received a question some time ago about whether we will be seeing an appearance from Jack Sparrow. At this point, I'm afraid I hadn't planned on it. This is strictly a Norribeth fic (with some Willabeth on the side).


	26. A Simple Man and His Blushing Bride

**A SIMPLE MAN AND HIS BLUSHING BRIDE**

Despite my mother's meticulously written guest list the entire gentry of Port Royal crowds into the church to watch Elizabeth and I wed. I sweep the congregation looking for a flash of red, either of Andrew's uniform or Rachel's hair. When I spot them toward the back of the church I am surprised to see that Rachel has been watching me the entire time. She waves a handkerchief at me, and then nudges Andrew in the ribs. He gives her an annoyed glance, but as soon as she nods in my direction he gives me an encouraging grin. I smile back, and suddenly loud organ music fills the church.

The congregation stands, and my eyes fall on the double doors situated straight down the aisle. They are firmly closed, and for a split second I fear that perhaps Elizabeth will not come out of them at all. As the music swells however, the doors creak open, and Elizabeth, hovering on the crook of her father's arm, appears. The lace on her veil obscures her face, but despite this my breath is taken away. She is a vision of ivory and gold and glimmering beads floating down the aisle as though she were walking on air. My heart painfully lodges itself somewhere in my throat, and I cannot place the source of my reaction.

When she reaches the altar the Governor lifts her veil and kisses her cheek. She closes her eyes against the tears I can see brimming and clings to his hand for a brief moment before he breaks away leaving her alone and vulnerable to the wave of disapproval and disdain I can feel emanating from most of the wedding goers. I hold my hand out to her, and she looks at it for a moment as though unsure of what to do. Her eyes meet mine, wide and terrified, and she takes my hand, allowing me to pull her toward me. I swallow hard and immediately the discomfort from seconds earlier subsides as I take in the sight of the woman before me.

How young and naive she looks with her cold hands trembling within my own as Reverend Collins begins the service. Without her usual defiance she is a mere slip of a girl easily tossed by the waves of that tumultuous thing called life. Guilt gnaws at me, creating knots in my stomach, and suddenly I can feel the enormity of our situation pressing down on me. Elizabeth does not love me. The child she carries is not my own. The father is out there, somewhere, biding his time, and here we stand as both willing and unwilling participants in a time-honored tradition mandated by God. I long to feel some rightness in this moment, but all I can think of is the burden of the road before us and the thin fingers pressed against my own, like gossamer threads.

Attempting to focus on the present, I watch Elizabeth carefully, tempting her to meet my gaze, but she never does. Her eyes shift in and out of focus, and I wonder just where it is she has disappeared to since she is certainly not here. As we say our vows to one another she grips my hands so tightly that I can feel the wild pulsing of her heart. I swallow hard again to steady myself. Her vows are barely audible in this church where even the slightest shift in weight can be heard, and I have to force myself to block out the whispers I hear echoing off the walls. Then, just when I feel the tension in the room will burst, it is finally over.

The church erupts into a frenzy of mixed applause and murmurs as Elizabeth and I process down the aisle. She moves jerkily next to me, as though in a daze, and her grip on my arm tightens as we near the doors. Concerned, I turn my head slightly and whisper in her ear, "Are you feeling well?"

She turns her face toward me, and I am shocked to see how pale she looks even against the ivory lace of her veil. She does not respond, though her mouth is open. Realising that we have stopped in the middle of the aisle and are holding up the entire congregation from exiting the church I apply pressure under her elbow to keep her moving. Perhaps some air will do her good . . .

One step is all it takes before Elizabeth's eyes roll back, her knees buckle, and she tumbles in a dead faint into my arms. There is a collective gasp from the wedding party, who are at various stages of exiting the church. I lower Elizabeth to the ground gently, keeping her head supported in the crook of my arm. A deep silence falls upon the crowd as they stare at the spectacle unfolding before them, but all I can care about is the woman cradled in my arms.

"Elizabeth!"

Governor Swann pushes his way to the front of the crowd and stares in bewilderment at his daughter's still figure.

"She's simply fainted," I say absent-mindedly, pressing my fingers against her wrist to check her pulse again. It is faint, but it is there, and I breathe a furtive sigh of relief.

A murmur runs through the crowd, and slowly people begin to talk amongst themselves. I ignore them, however, and turn toward the panic-stricken Governor.

"Is the carriage waiting?"

He nods, looking both concerned and helpless at the same time, as his hands wring themselves over and over like flighty birds. I turn back to Elizabeth and hoist her up into my arms resting her head against my shoulder. The crowd of people continues to stare, and momentarily I search for Andrew and Rachel, but they are nowhere to be seen. However, I do catch the unwelcome eye of my mother whose countenance gleams with triumph. Disgusted, I turn away from her before turning toward Governor Swann.

"I do not think we will be able to have the reception," I say quietly, and he nods, his eyes soft as he gazes on his daughter's face. "I'll take her straight home. Anne will take care of her, I assure you. I'm sure it's nothing serious."

"Should I send a doctor over?"

"Yes, thank you," I say, and the Governor squeezes my shoulder. Then I turn on my heel and walk out of the church both eager to get Elizabeth home and eager to leave behind the stares of Port Royal's self-righteous gentry. The carriage is waiting just as the Governor said, and I carefully place Elizabeth inside before hoisting myself up after her and shutting the door behind me.

We are finally alone and away from prying eyes, but we are not young lovers and there are no stolen kisses inside the darkened carriage. I support Elizabeth, holding her against me to keep the carriage from jostling her too much, but she remains unconscious. Holding her is like holding smoke, and it is a wonder that she has not blown away in the wind. She is strikingly beautiful in sleep, and my throat tightens knowing that despite our marriage I will not be afforded the privilege of sharing her bed as long as her heart is elsewhere. Of course, I will not press the matter. I will not take what is not given freely or willingly. When we arrive at the house I carry Elizabeth inside and call to Anne as I make my way up the stairs.

"Anne!"

There is no answer, and so I wedge the door to Elizabeth's room open and place her gently on the bed. I stand back to catch my breath, and when nearly a minute passes without any sign from Anne I begin working at the lacings on the back of Elizabeth's dress. Suddenly, I hear hurried footsteps in the corridor, and I stumble back unsure of what to do with my hands. Anne suddenly appears, breathless, and wiping her hands on her apron.

"Sorry, sir, I was in the kitchen and-"

She stops short at the sight of Elizabeth lying still upon the bed.

"What's happened?"

"She fainted right after the service. I don't know what it is. Perhaps she simply needs some food or water or rest. I'm not sure."

Anne's eyes grow wide.

"Has a doctor been called, sir?" she asks, as she turns to open a window and draw water from a basin in the corner.

"Yes, he should be here soon. When he leaves, could you draw a bath for her and bring her tea?"

"Aye, sir."

Leaving the room, I shut the door behind me and walk down the corridor to my own room, whose door stands ajar, inviting me in. As soon as I am inside I pull off my wig and coat and hang them up. The room is stuffy in the late July heat, and so I unbutton my waistcoat and loosen my cravat before opening up one of the windows.

My desk in the corner is hidden under layers of parchment and documents to be signed. I sit down, pull the nearest order toward me, and dip my quill in the ink bottle situated on the windowsill. The monotony of my work is bliss, and time passes quickly. I vaguely hear the doctor arrive some time later in the day, and I pause for a second with my ear cocked in an attempt to gain some meaning from the thud of his boots on the floor and the soft murmur of his voice through the wall. Mere minutes after the front door has closed behind him I hear Anne lugging buckets of hot water up the stairs for Elizabeth's bath, and even later than that there is a knock on my door.

"Yes?" I call, not looking up from my work.

Anne appears around the door with a tray in hand.

"I've brought some supper for you, sir."

I set down my quill and take the tray from her, nodding in appreciation. She bobs a curtsy and is about to leave the room when I call after her.

"Anne, how is Elizabeth? What did the doctor say?"

"She's just fine, sir. She woke up right before the doctor arrived and was talking to me with no problem. The doctor said is was simply a side effect of the . . . well-"

She stops short and looks down at her feet.

Seeing her discomfort I say, "That's all right, I understand. What is she doing now? Has she eaten?"

"Yes, sir, she's already eaten, and I've just shown her to the library. Though she's tired she says, so I'll be along to help her to bed."

"Thank you, Anne."

Anne nods again, and turns to leave the room, but stops short one more time. "It's not my place, sir," she says slowly, looking at her hand resting on the edge of the door, "but you'd best get some rest yourself. It's been a long day for all, and it's no good working yourself to death."

She glances up at me, smiles faintly, and then leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. The food on the tray remains untouched for some time as I watch the sun set beyond the windowpane. Elizabeth is in my house at this moment, yet I cannot feel her presence. Elizabeth is my wife at this moment, yet she is not mine, not in all ways as it should be. I resist the urge to stand up and seek her out knowing that I must give her time alone. How much time alone, however, is impossible to tell.

**Authoress' Note**: I am so sorry for the lack of updates! I did warn previously that school would take precedence till May, and here we are already in June! At any rate, you have all been faithful followers, and you deserve more than what I can give you. I hope I will be able to regularly update this story this summer and perhaps finish it. Thank you, once again, for your patience! Give me a shout in the reviews so I know there are people still interested. :) All characters, etc. © Disney.


	27. Heaven For a Moment

**HEAVEN FOR A MOMENT**

As darkness falls, I shut the window, light a few candles, and set the now empty tray outside of my room. Slipping off my stockings and shoes, I sit down on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands. This is not how it was supposed to be. Growing up, marriage always seemed to be such a magical and wonderful thing. My own parents had loved each other at some point in their lives, and maybe they still do in their own convoluted way. But perhaps I am more of a romantic than I ever gave myself credit for. Unfortunately, not everything unfolds in the manner in which you dream it.

The door suddenly creaks open, and my head jerks up. Elizabeth is there, a shadow amongst the dancing candle flames, ghostly in her white nightgown. Before I can speak she pads quickly and silently across the floor, and I feel her slight weight on the other side of the bed. A shiver of anticipation runs up my spine at her presence.

"How are you?" I whisper into the gathering darkness, my eyes remaining fixed on the wall in front of me.

The bed creaks slightly, and suddenly Elizabeth's hot breath is against my ear, fleeting and quick. She hesitates, and then presses her lips against my cheek with careful precision. All I can do is close my eyes and succumb to the poison of the forbidden fruit of her lips as she trails kisses across my jaw line and down to my neck. The scrape of her teeth against the skin on my shoulder causes a moan to escape my lips. Her hands are working, kneading my shoulders, and tugging my shirt until it is pulled over my head. I turn to her then, thinking only of my own needs and desire, and run my hands up the expanse of white cloth that separates me from the warmth of her skin. She kisses me again, never on the lips, and closes the space between us. It is bliss, heaven for a moment, in this haze until I remember – everything. _I am not the first man. Did she seduce William in the same way?_

"Elizabeth, please," I plead, my voice breathless and constricted.

She pulls away, her face flushed in the candlelight, and immediately she puts a hand to her lips to hide their swollenness.

"It's not right," I whisper hoarsely, "I appreciate- I understand what you are trying to do for me, but there's no use pretending. I can't allow it. I'm sorry."

She blinks at me, with her chest still heaving under the white nightgown, and says nothing. Instead, she pulls the coverlet from underneath the pillow on her side of the bed and hunkers down with her back toward me. Sighing, I do the same before blowing out the candle on the bedside table. It flickers once, and then goes out, pitching us into total darkness. My throat constricts as I search for words to say, words of comfort or love, but nothing comes to mind, except three words I know she will not want to hear.

I do not remember falling asleep. Though I closed my eyes I was continuously awoken by Elizabeth shifting or stirring next to me and by disconcerting and fitful dreams. It was not long before light filled the room, streaming across the bed and creating a red glow behind my closed eyelids. Still half-asleep, I am vaguely aware of a retching noise that causes me to turn over and prop myself up on one elbow. To my surprise Elizabeth standing at the open window, bracing herself against the sill, as she heaves drily. I grimace as she gags once again, although she does not seem to notice me as she pulls the window shut and swipes the back of her hand across her mouth. Immediately, she freezes as soon as she realises I am awake, as though she were caught in the act of committing a crime.

Recovering, she moves back toward the bed and reclines back onto the pillows gingerly, clasping her hands across her stomach to keep them from shaking. Pale, with nostrils flaring for air, she finally looks at me, acknowledging my presence. When she catches her breath she says, "Sorry, it's just morning sickness. The doctor said it would wear off soon enough." She twists a strand of hair around her index finger, and then lets it fall limp. "I didn't know where you kept the- The window was near-". She gestures feebly to get her point across, and then resigns herself to embarrassment.

"It's all right," I say quietly to save her further shame, "I understand."

She shrugs, and with a little effort, gets up from the bed and trails out of the room without another word. Frustrated by the events that have transpired between us, I dress, and make my way down the corridor to Elizabeth's room. Female voices waft out to me, and I stop short just outside the door to announce my presence. With a hesitant knock from me the conversation stops midsentence, and I move around the edge of the doorframe and into view.

"Do you need any help?" I offer, as Anne continues to hang up dresses while Elizabeth finishes positioning a clock upon the mantelpiece of the fireplace.

Elizabeth bends down and scoops up the remaining items from inside her trunk, and then shuts the lid. As she passes me on the way out of the room she jerks her head back at it.

"Could you put that under the bed for me?"

Grimly, I walk over to the trunk, and push it along the floor until it slides easily under the bed. Anne watches me thoughtfully as I straighten up. I give her a wane smile as she continues to put Elizabeth's clothes away.

"What do you think of her?" I ask, lowering my voice in case Elizabeth should decide to return to her room.

"I can see why you love her," Anne says with a knowing smile, "She truly is a lovely creature."

"If only I could get her to stay in the same room with me for more than a few minutes at a time perhaps I would see that myself," I muse.

Anne clicks her tongue. "That will come in time. Remember you've been married for only a day now. That's certainly not enough time to win her over."

"You're right, Anne, as usual," I concede, and she simply gives me that perceptive smile again as I leave the room and make my way back down the corridor.

I am surprised to find Elizabeth in our room again placing a few personal items in nooks and on tables, permeating the space with her constant presence. I stand back and watch her bemusedly as she positions a shawl over the rocking chair in the corner, carefully making sure it rests perfectly on the backing.

"Is everything to your liking?" I ask, simply to make conversation.

"Yes," she replies without even looking at me.

Our lack of conversation is growing tiring already . . .

The next few weeks turn into a monotonous blur I was hoping we would avoid. Three days out of the week Elizabeth shares my bed, and four days she does not. She never tells me when the days are, but simply shows up when I have changed and the night has settled in. That is the only spontaneity in our marriage, and it is maddening. She is like Eve on those nights, tempting me with the apple that is not mine to eat from and is expressly forbidden. I sleep poorly on some of those nights, lying in a cold sweat, and reminding myself that the woman beside me is my wife who deserves all reverence and respect no matter the situation. God, it is a torture unlike any other.

There are other aspects of our marriage, however, to which I become easily accustomed. It does not take long for me to stop anticipating Elizabeth's morning sickness, and it becomes less frequent as time passes, nor does it take her long to become used to my long absences for work. We often move in separate spheres, she and I. I leave the house for the fort before she awakens, and when I return it is either late or she is holed up in some part of the house exploring or else reading. She has taken to the library as a magpie does to shine. Books are piled on her bedside table, and she often reads before blowing out the candle to sleep. Together, we have created the perfect façade, and at times I fear we will never overcome it.

**Authoress' Note: **I'm so glad I was able to get this chapter out in a decent amount of time. :) I'm afraid the next few won't be so easy. They're already written, but I've decided to take the story in a different direction, so I'll have to spend time reworking them. Enough of my woes . . . Thanks for all the reviews – I especially enjoyed the messages from Agent047 and schmackz! Love all my reviewers though, of course.


	28. Sparks Fly Up

**SPARKS FLY UP**

"_From a little spark may burst a flame." – Dante Alighieri_

"Elizabeth, do you remember what I told you before we were married?"

Elizabeth looks up at me from across the table, her brows drawn together in thought.

"About what?" she asks finally.

"About a voyage I would have to go on . . ."

"Oh yes, you said it wouldn't take long. Just a couple of weeks, wasn't it?"

"Exactly," I say, pleased that we have managed to speak to one another for more than a minute, "I'll be away for about two weeks or so if everything goes according to plan. It's routine, but you never know."

"Mhmm."

Elizabeth nods vacantly and looks back down at the plate in front of her. She seems almost surprised to see a fork and a knife in her hand. There is a moment of hesitation before we begin eating again. The spark of conversation fizzles between us just as quickly as it was struck, and then goes out. The next morning I leave early, and Elizabeth does not come with me to the docks. In fact, I do not even bother to wake her to say good-bye. Somehow I do not think she will mind. Rachel is the only woman waiting out on the docks, and she gives me a warm kiss on the cheek in greeting.

"Where's Elizabeth?" she asks, genuinely concerned.

"She was feeling under the weather," I lie, and Rachel nods in understanding.

"It's the baby, isn't it?" she asks matter-of-factly, but before I can reply she continues, "Well, never mind then. You go on, and have a safe voyage. Bring my husband back in one piece, and I'll be sure to visit Elizabeth. I'm sure she'll be glad of the company while you are gone."

"Thank you, Rachel," I say, though I do not have the heart to tell her that I do not think Elizabeth will care if anyone visits or not.

"Of course, James," she says, before kissing me once more and shooing me off toward the gangway.

As soon as I am on board I seek out the helmsman on duty at the other end of the ship.

"After we've taken our routine stop in Baracoa I would like us to take a one night layover in Tortuga. That's an order."

The helmsman gives me a bemused look but shrugs his shoulders.

"Aye, sir, I understand, but Tortuga . . ."

"Just follow your orders, sailor."

That shuts him up quickly, and I leave the deck in search of Andrew so that I can let him in on my plan to take down William Turner. I find him one deck below overseeing the movement and placement of cargo.

"Andrew, I've just authorised a one night stop in Tortuga."

Andrew looks up from a trailing parchment in his hand, startled. "Tortuga? Why?"

I look around furtively to make sure we are alone before replying, "I'm looking for William Turner."

"What? Why?"

"I don't rightly know. I don't really have a plan right now," I concede.

"Why do you even need a plan at all?" Andrew asks agitatedly, "What do you hope to gain from arresting him?"

"I didn't say I was going to arrest him," I say, bristling slightly from his accusation.

Andrew takes a deep breath and draws his brows together in thought. "All right, I'm sorry. I don't agree with it, but I can't stop you."

"Thank you, Andrew. I need you in this."

He nods, but immediately goes back to looking over the cargo without saying another word. His disapproval is palpable, and I know that this will not be our last discussion on the matter. There are days, nay weeks, before we stop in Tortuga, and Andrew will certainly take advantage of the time to persuade me of the futility of my mission.

We are not three days out of port when, one evening, there is a knock on the door to my quarters. I look up from a map of the Baracoa harbour and a list of legal traders we expect to make contact with, but before I can make some sort of inquiry or open the door Andrew steps inside. He glances at me and flashes a sheepish smile before turning to shut the door behind him.

"I hope I'm not intruding on any official business, James," he says, noticing the maps and stacks of parchment as he nears the table.

I shake my head, offer him an empty chair, and begin rolling up the map.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask, stashing the parchment away and pulling out a bottle of brandy. "I haven't got anything good, but this will have to do if you want it."

Andrew holds up a hand to decline the offer and shakes his head. He seems to be preoccupied with his thoughts, so I let him brood a moment while I pour a drink for myself, stopper the bottle, and then sit down across the table from him.

"Cat got your tongue?" I ask after a burning first swallow of the amber liquid swirling around in my glass.

Andrew looks slightly uncomfortable as he opens his mouth slowly. "James . . . I do not think searching for William Turner is such a good idea."

I down the rest of the brandy at the mere mention of Mr. Turner's name and relish its heat as it goes down. I resist the urge to pour myself more. William Turner is no excuse to become a drunken sop no matter what the circumstances.

"Andrew, you know I value your opinion," I say carefully, "but I cannot understand your misgivings."

"It just doesn't feel right," Andrew continues, avoiding my eyes as he looks around the cabin, "You are not a vengeful person, James. I know that much, and I hope you do too. I cannot see what you hope to gain by risking everything - career and marriage - by looking for this man. It's an impossible situation."

"He slept with my wife," I growl.

"You mean, _she_ slept with him."

"Don't drag Elizabeth into this," I snap.

Andrew blinks at me, meeting my gaze for the first time since our conversation began. "She is a part of this, James," he says firmly, "You cannot deny that she fancies William Turner; that perhaps she loves him. She's stubborn, and she made the decision to break her vow to you. Now you want to act out of vengeance. James, that's what she wants! Don't stoop to her level. You have to make her see that you _are_ the better man."

I grit my teeth knowing that Andrew is right as usual but am unwilling to admit it or go down without a fight. "Just a month ago you wanted me to break off the engagement, and now you support it. What am I supposed to think?"

"I don't know, James. I'm your friend, and you know I would follow you to the ends of the earth and back. Don't ask me what I was thinking a month ago. I just knew that my friend had been slighted, and I spoke brashly. But you have made your bed and now you must lay in it. You will not make anything better between you and Elizabeth by exacting revenge.

I turn his words over in my head and find them to be true, though again, I will not admit it to him.

"What if I don't get revenge on him?" I ask carefully, "What if I just harmlessly ask after him? Word would get around eventually that I am looking for him, and he would stay away."

Andrew looks momentarily astounded by my change of heart. "So, you're saying you will not confront Turner?"

"Right," I lie.

Andrew gives me a look that seems to pierce directly down into my soul, and I wonder if he can see the lie in my eyes. After a second he smiles, a look of relief in his expression, and he gets up from the table.

"Good night, James," he says, making his way toward the door, "I am glad you've come around."

The door shuts with a slight tremor, and I am left alone with a bottle of brandy to down and my own lie hanging in the air above me like some oppressive cloud.

* * *

At the end of our stay in Baracoa we turn tail toward Tortuga and tie up at the dock by nightfall. Though Andrew urges me to stay aboard once more and reconsider the plan altogether, I cannot will myself to do so and risk Mr. Turner slipping through my grasp again. The majority of the ships in port are pirate ships with their jolly rogers blowing in a nightly breeze, but I notice that as soon as our Navy ship's presence is made known the jolly rogers disappear and are replaced by trade flags or none at all. I am not looking for pirates, however, and so I do not bother with them. The first ship I go to is dark and unmanned, so I continue on to the next where a rough looking sailor sits at the helm.

"Evening sailor," I call up to him.

"Evening guvna," he calls back.

"I'm searching for a man by the name of William Turner. Do you know him or have you seen him?"

"Never heard of him, Commodore."

Nodding, I continue onward, knowing that I could not be so lucky as to get him on the first try. After walking all the way down the docks until the _Dauntless _is out of sight I finally admit defeat. Frustrated and feeling slightly embarrassed for not having a real plan, I enter the nearest pub and push through the raucous crowd until I reach a seat at the bar. I order up a pint of ale and survey the cacophony around me. The smell of alcohol and smoke is almost overwhelming, but I cannot bear to go back to the ship empty handed.

Suddenly, a young woman, her hair a light blonde and her eyes ringed in black, trails a hand over my shoulder and sits down in the seat next to me. She licks her crimson lips and orders up a drink for herself but does not touch it when the bartender sets it down in front of her. Instead she leans toward me so I can get a good look down the front of her bodice and says in a sultry, low-pitched voice, "What's the matter, Captain? Bad day?"

"It's Commodore actually, and no," I mutter over the top of my pint while attempting to ignore her advances.

"Well then _Commodore_, what are you doin' all the way out in a God-forsaken place like this?"

She blinks at me innocently with those wide blue eyes of hers, and I am suddenly, disconcertingly, struck by how young she looks.

"It's a long story," I mumble, still shocked and bewildered.

She leans forward again, and this time I have to keep my eyes trained on my drink as she whispers in my ear, "I've got all night, love."

**Authoress' Note: **I apologize for another long wait. I hope I still have some readers out there. *waves feebly* I think I've worked out the issue I was having with the story, although there's no way of telling until I actually get a few more chapters down the road. Anyway, I had a nice holiday in Hawaii, and now I feel ready to tackle this challenge again. Thanks for sticking with me, and I promise I won't keep you hanging on this cliff for too long. :) (Also, I apologize if this chapter feels rushed in any way.)


	29. In the House of Rahab

**IN THE HOUSE OF RAHAB**

I swallow hard, still staring down at my drink, but feeling the woman's hiss of breath next to my ear. I can hardly breathe with her so close. My mind is stuck somewhere between Elizabeth and William Turner, and I swig down the remainder of my drink to clear my head. Instead, the two images meld together, and I am filled with a bitter resentment and need for revenge. The young woman next to me is still on the edge of her seat waiting for an answer.

"I do not have a room," I say quietly.

"Just follow me," the woman says, a smile breaking across her face.

We weave through the drunken throng and mount a flight of stairs that disappear down a dark and grimy corridor situated above the bar. The noise from downstairs is muted somewhat, however, it is soon replaced by boisterous moans issuing from a closed door just out of sight. I feel suddenly warm, though the sounds do not seem to bother my companion who simply pushes open the door to her room and ushers me inside. The door shuts behind her, and all other disturbances are blessedly blocked out.

Unsure of what to do, and feeling embarrassed, I place my coat, hat, and wig carefully on a chair by the door and loosen my cravat slightly. When I turn around my escort is unlacing the front of her bodice. She catches me staring but does not seem ashamed at all. Instead, she looks back at me haughtily, and then laughs, placing her hands on her hips. The sound is biting, unappealing, to my ears and overflowing with bitterness.

"First time, love?" she asks, sauntering toward me, "That's all right. Let ol' Beth do the work as that's what I'm 'ere for."

She helps me untie my cravat, her face mere centimetres from mine as her hands work underneath my chin. The way she's pressing herself again me I cannot be sure whether her closeness is a necessity or simply her means of seducing me, and that's when I realise I am in over my head. Nothing about this situation feels right, and I can hear Andrew's voice of reason in my mind, but there's nothing for it: I cannot seem to stop what is already in motion.

"Now then," she says in a low, gravelly voice, "what'll it be, Commodore? Fourpence an hour or a guinea for the night?"

"A guinea for the night," I say hoarsely, and the hastiness of my response surprises even myself.

Beth attempts to hide a satisfied grin unsuccessfully as she reaches out a hand and gives the waistband of my trousers a tug. Suddenly, her hands and lips seem to be everywhere at once. I can feel her bare breasts heaving against my chest through the thin cotton of my shirt as she kisses my neck, and in the same moment I feel oddly detached, as though I should know where to put my hands or know what to do next, but I do not. The bed sits idly in the corner tempting me to follow in Elizabeth's footsteps; to simply take Beth without another thought, embarrassment, honour, and vows be damned.

The temptation is there wriggling around in the back of my mind and right here in front of my eyes, but there is no excitement; there is no thrill in the thought of being pleasured by a woman who has done the same to countless men before. Minutes earlier I wanted revenge, but revenge is not lust and certainly has a way of dampening the spirits instead of arousing them. Beth's hands fumble with the button on my trousers in a fruitless attempt to remove them drawing me out of my reverie, and I catch her wrists gently, forcing her to stop. Breathlessly, she looks up at me in wide eyed fear that lessens when I drop her hands and move to sit down on the edge of the bed. She sits down next to me looking forlorn and lost. With a flash of defiance she tucks a golden curl behind one ear and licks her swollen lips.

"Is that not what you wanted?" she asks tersely, "Just tell me. I can do wha'ever you like, sir. Some men like it against the wall-"

"Beth," I say not wishing to know any more, but she does not seem to hear me as she continues speaking frantically.

"-but if you want it done quick-"

"Beth!" I say, louder this time.

She stops mid sentence, and I can only wonder what she must think of me. I can see her out of the corner of my eye lying at the head of the bed, legs spread and skirts hiked up, waiting patiently to receive whatever it is I have to offer. Without looking at her I reach over and pull her gown back down over her nakedness. Only then do I turn toward her. With her hands still clenching her skirts and her nostrils flaring, she is angry or else on the verge of tears.

"There's been a mistake," I say quietly, "I'm sorry. I- I'll still pay for your time, but I just . . . I just can't go through with this."

Suddenly calm, Beth sits up, smoothes her skirt, and then swings her legs over the side of the bed with a shrug. She keeps one arm folded across her chest out of what I expect is forced modesty as she picks up her bodice from the middle of the floor and deftly laces it back up.

"I get that a lot," she says nonchalantly, facing away from me, "Most of the time they just leave. Thanks for the guinea anyway. That's more than I make usually, and I won't 'ave to go back out there, ya know?"

She trails off despondently and looks toward the thin slat of a window on the far wall, but there is nothing to see in the gloom outside. She draws her arms around herself, and again, I see the lost young woman; the forgotten one, a doleful creature not unlike the wife I left at home.

"It'd be nice to get some sleep," Beth says, and a small smile turns up the corners of her lips, "I 'aven't 'ad a good night's rest in a long while." She says this mostly to herself, while stifling a yawn, and when she seems to notice me again she asks, "You'll stay with me won' you?"

For a split second I consider the absurdity of staying here in this dingy place, sharing a room with a whore, but when I see the hope in her eyes I cannot say no. Besides, returning to the ship empty-handed and at such a late hour would only earn me grief from my crew, and that is something I do not need.

I nod. "I will stay with you. I- I'll sleep in the chair by the door. You won't have to worry about anyone unwanted coming in."

The relief in her eyes breaks my heart, and I sit down in the chair placing my hat, coat, and wig on the floor next to me.

"Thank you," she says as she sits down on the edge of the bed and plaits her hair. Feeling my eyes on her she glances over at me and frowns. "Don't pity me. I chose this for myself. You cannot save me."

It's disconcerting how she seems to be able to read my thoughts.

"I didn't come here to save you," I respond, turning my head away.

Beth blows out the candle on the spindly bedside table, and the bed groans as she settles into it.

"But you want to," she breathes after a few seconds silence.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Someone . . ." she says flatly, "You know the only two reasons men like you come to Tortuga looking for someone is either you're a pirate hunter or you've gotta personal vendetta against 'em. Am I right?"

She's a smart one, and it kills me to hear her put it so frankly.

"The second reason," I say, and she makes a _tsk_ing sound.

"What'd he do to you then?"

I grit my teeth, forcing William's image out of my mind. I can feel Beth's eyes on me through the darkness, waiting.

"My wife is carrying his child."

She remains silent, and for a moment I think that perhaps she simply isn't shocked by my pronouncement. She is a prostitute after all.

"Sorry," she says slowly, "but I don't think I understand. Your wife's going to 'ave a baby, and you're here. Shouldn't you be with her?"

"She doesn't care," I admit, and I am momentarily staggered by the truth in that statement.

"If you don't mind me sayin', I don't see the point in gettin' revenge on this man. Your marriage seems to need more work than anythin' else right now. You see, if I were that man I'd bide my time 'fore coming out in the open. People like that only wanna be found on their own terms."

She has a point, and it's something Andrew had been saying for some time. It only took a prostitute to say it before I could understand, and now, sitting in this dark, dank room, I feel a powerful surge of homesickness and loneliness that I know can only be quelled by returning to Port Royal without William Turner in custody.

* * *

The next morning I wake as soon as the sun's rays are peeking through the slats on the window with a sore neck. I look over at the bed where Beth is still sleeping, curled up like a child, and find that the scene itself is rather peaceful in these dawn hours when the bar is silent and clients have all gone home or are still slumbering. Standing up, I gather my articles in hand, and place two guineas on the bedside table. Beth stirs slightly as I pull the tattered blanket down over her bare foot, but she does not wake.

The silence of the corridor outside is unsettling and almost unnatural, but I am careful to close the door behind me with care. Descending the stairs I am greeted by the sight of an empty barroom. The barman himself is there, however, cleaning mugs behind the counter. He gives me a bleary nod as I pick my way through tables and chairs and am finally out the door and into the morning light.

There is no one out on the deck of the _Dauntless _this early except the man on watch, who happens to be, much to my dismay, Andrew. I had been hoping to avoid him under the pretense of duty so I could get some shut eye and collect my thoughts, but no such luck. He is half asleep himself, but as soon as I appear at the top of the gangway he gives a startled shout and leaps up.

"James, where the hell have you been?" he cries, looking me up and down with bewilderment.

I clench my eyes shut, then reopen them again. "Is that any way to address a superior officer, Lieutenant?" I ask, hoping that will shut him up for the time being.

"No, sir, but seeing as I am addressing you as a friend . . ."

"All right, all right," I say to stop his tirade before bracing myself against the ship railing. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Andrew watching me expectantly. _How much should I tell him?_

I let out a deep breath. "Obviously, I didn't find Turner, just as I promised. I asked around in as many places as I could. I- I stayed the night in an inn," I lie, but continue before Andrew can butt in, "But look, I did some thinking last night, and I've decided to forget about him - William Turner, I mean. Elizabeth needs me . . ."

I trail off, unsure of what else to say and hoping Andrew will believe me. I despise lying to him, especially to his face, but I cannot risk anything. To risk Elizabeth finding out would ruin everything. Andrew's hand on my shoulder draws me out of my thoughts. It is comforting and reassuring; it is the hand of a friend. I turn my head to look at Andrew, and he gives me a thoughtful expression but nothing more. He has already said everything he can, and now, I am sure, he is satisfied that I have made the right decision. If only I could have the same amount of faith in my decision as himself. But, how can I when I know there is a pit of lies before my feet just waiting for me to fall in?

**Authoress' Note: **I'm a bit conflicted about this chapter. I needed James to experience the same temptation Elizabeth experienced and overcome it, but I'm not sure how well that came across. I've learned some invaluable lessons during the course of writing this story, and one of them is: it's difficult to write about that which you haven't experienced, namely, this chapter. And it's probably no comfort to you readers to know that. Hope this chapter isn't completely ruined because of it. :/ © Disney


	30. Resistance

**Authoress' Note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You're all such a lovely bunch of people, and I enjoy each review thoroughly. Your support of the previous chapter was very much appreciated. (Of course, I would have appreciated your reviews even if you'd said you hated it!) Meanwhile, our story continues in a non-chronological fashion – we're moving backwards – so that we can see what Elizabeth has been up to while dear James is away . . .

**RESISTANCE**

"Anne, the Norringtons will be here any minute, and you've just now started setting the table?" I cry, throwing myself into action by laying several sets of forks and knives down on the table taken from their usual place in the china hutch against the wall.

"Calm down, Miss, or you'll wear yourself out," Anne says, alarmed. She stops setting out crystal glasses, and I know she will not continue until I am sitting down and not overtaxing myself.

I lower myself into one of the gilded dining room chairs with a sigh and smooth my gown over the swell barely visible underneath the fabric. It is an odd feeling when oneself has a discernable confirmation of a life growing within them. Indeed, the knowledge of being with child is certainly not as overwhelming as that slight quickening that lets you _know_ there is something there that wasn't there before. I cannot help feeling awed as I press my hand flat against it.

Anne must have seen my furtive smile as she asks, "Do you feel something, Miss?"

I shake my head and let my hands fall into my lap before meeting her eyes. She smiles at me kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"No, nothing yet," I say, an edge of disappointment in my voice.

"You'll feel something soon enough," Anne reassures me as she finishes setting the table and closes the lid on the silver box.

I look at her curiously and have half a mind to ask her if she has children of her own. She is certainly older than I am, but not at all much, if any bit, older than James. Yet she does not seem to have a husband to speak of. Just as I open my mouth to speak, however, there is a knock on the front door. I stand up, and silently Anne glides around the table and grasps my hand in her own.

"Good luck," she says and gives it a light squeeze before exiting the room toward the kitchen.

I stand in front of my chair, my hands clenching the top, and take a deep breath to compose myself. I turn my head and look at myself in the looking glass placed on the wall to my right. Everything seems to be in its proper place, so I put on a smile and move toward the dining room door just as it swings open.

"Lord and Lady Norrington," I murmur, bowing my head and giving a slight curtsy, "Do come in."

Perhaps shocked by the nature of my greeting, the Lord and Lady shuffle inside, a brief flash of incredulity on Lady Norrington's face. In fact, I do not give them a chance to speak as I usher them toward their chairs.

"I was so pleased when you accepted my invitation," I say sweetly, as I take the seat that James' father pulls out for me, "especially considering the way our previous engagements have transpired and the fact that your son is not here. I, for one, am all for new beginnings, aren't you?"

Anne finishes setting down three bowls, and for a moment the Lord and Lady do not seem to know whether it would be appropriate to reply or to start on their soup. James' father chooses the latter, while his wife chooses to glare at me beadily from across the table. Her face breaks into a simpering smile as she replies, "Of course."

Coolly, I begin on the first course to allow the nervousness bubbling up in my stomach to dissipate. The fact that I have said more than three civil words to Lady Norrington is a source of much pride for me, and I revel in the unease that our long silence obviously causes her. Surprisingly, it is Lord Norrington who breaks that silence after downing his soup in only a few punctuated swallows.

"How is your father?" he asks, sheepishly peering at me across the table with his watery eyes, "He seems a capital sort of fellow, what little we saw of him that is."

"I assume my father is well, thank you," I reply, "I have not seen him since the wedding, though I am sure I would have heard if he were doing poorly."

The silence this time is heightened by the slight breach in the topic of the wedding, a topic I can tell Lady Norrington wishes to tear into as soon as the moment presents itself. Brimming with the confidence instilled by my newfound position of power over the Lord and Lady I ask, "When will you be leaving Port Royal? I was under the impression that you would not be staying very long after the wedding."

"We decided to stay longer since many of our old family friends and acquaintances made the long journey down here," Lady Norrington says haughtily and in such a way that suggests it was my fault that they had to stay.

"I realize the wedding ceremony did get cut short, and I am terribly sorry about that," I say, making no effort to conceal my facetious intent, "But those things cannot be helped you know."

I can heard Estrella's voice in my head chiding me to stick to propriety, be polite, and please restrict my comments to the weather if I have nothing else suitable to say. In a streak of rebellion I push her familiar words away and decide that it is time to give the pair a taste of their own medicine, propriety be damned.

"I certainly think they could have been helped," Lady Norrington responds tersely, pushing her now empty bowl away.

"Oh?" I ask, raising one eyebrow, "So you think I chose to have this baby, did you?"

"Well, if you hadn't been whoring about- "

Anne, startled by Lady Norrington's language, nearly drops the next course's plates and causes them to clatter against the table. In her haste to keep the dishes from breaking she elbows Lady Norrington in the arm.

"Stupid woman!" the Lady cries, batting Anne away with one hand as she mumbles her apologies.

"Do not speak to her that way," I snap, and Lady Norrington shuts her mouth. Anne backs out of the room looking profusely grateful. As soon as she is gone James' mother sets in on me again without hesitation. Her pitiful husband simply stares down at his plate, and then picks up his fork and begins eating. At this moment I cannot even begin to fathom how James could be his son or hers for that matter.

"As I was saying," she says between mouthfuls, as though no outburst had occurred, "if my son had had any backbone at all he would have pitched you out in the street or else set sail for England immediately."

Unable to eat anymore due to the hatred boiling up inside me I set my fork down and speak, my eyes narrowed and my voice soft but deadly, "Don't talk about James that way. You don't even know your son."

Lady Norrington sneers at me from across the table, her eyes nearly snakelike slits.

"And _you_ know him?"

"More than either of you do," I contend, and Lady Norrington looks briefly taken aback, "He is not ambitious, nor does he care for money or power. The fact that he loves me was his reason for marrying me. It takes a strong man to admit defeat and still come away the victor."

Both Norringtons stare at me blankly as though what I am saying does not make sense to them. To be honest, I am not sure if it makes sense to me either. I am speaking, and yet I do not know where the words are coming from.

Breathless I continue, "He has never sought your approval and asked for it out of duty and respect more than anything else. If you have done anything with your lives, you have at least raised an honest and honourable man. You have raised a man who does not run away from his problems, and if you cannot accept him as such then you cannot accept me."

There is dead silence, in which I realise I am standing though I do not remember doing so, and for a split second I fear that I have shocked them perhaps too much. But then, Lady Norrington throws down her napkin, snaps a finger at her husband, and pushes her chair back in one swift motion.

"That is it," she fumes, glaring at me from across the table, "I have had enough of you. You think you know _everything_, don't you? You think my son has raised you up like some angel from the stinking pits of Hell, but you're wrong. You are a whore and no daughter of mine."

Her insults hit me like falling rain, softened by a shield I have placed around myself. For the first time, I have been honest, and instead of arguing my cause further I simply let them leave. The front door slams behind them, shaking one of the portraits hanging on the wall. I go to it and straighten it, thinking to myself. _A man who does not run away from his problems . . . _Is William such a man? Have William's true colours been revealed to me now? Have I created a coward out of him? These questions, and many more, swirl around within me as I sit at the dining room table alone. I have defied even myself tonight through my words and actions. Four months ago I would not have done so much for James Norrington as nod at him in passing, and yet here I am defending his very honour as a wife does her husband.

"Is everything all right?" Anne asks a few minutes later, as she pokes her head around the kitchen door.

I nod from my place at the table still lost in thought.

"Are they gone then?" she asks.

It is a simple question, but it causes thousands more to erupt within me. Did I really come out the victor in this fight? Is it safe to say that I will never see them again? If so, what is my next challenge? In retrospect, I fear that Lord and Lady Norrington are merely the beginning of a long series of mountains to be climbed and seas to swim in this ever more intricate map of my life that seems to have no foreseeable ending.


	31. Confessions From a Confidante

**CONFESSIONS FROM A CONFIDANTE**

"Estrella!" I cry joyfully as she appears in the open doorway, and I throw my arms around her neck and decorum by the wayside.

She utters a cry of surprise at my unexpected appearance but clings to me just as tightly as I do to her. Regaining her composure, she holds me out in front of her and looks me up and down with one hand pressed to her lips to hide a tearful smile.

"Estrella, who's at the door? Are you going to stand- Elizabeth!"

The Governor appears behind Estrella his face slowly breaking into a smile as he takes in the sight of me standing in the doorway unable to wipe the stupid grin off my own face. Estrella sighs contentedly as she steps back to let me in, and as I step inside I am immediately enveloped in my father's arms. I melt into his strong embrace and fight to keep from bursting into tears as the burdens of the past few weeks are lifted from my shoulders. Father's hand rests on my head for a moment, and then we pull away from one another.

"What are you doing here, my dear?" Father asks leading me into the sitting room, "I hardly expected you to visit so soon."

"James is away," I say, lowering myself into an armchair opposite my father, "Anne is brilliant company, but she's terribly busy, and I thought that instead of keeping her from her work I should come see you."

Father's face crinkles into the familiar smile I have missed as Estrella sets out the tea tray for the two of us. I reach across the table and take Father's softened hands in my own.

"I've missed you," I say quietly, and Father's eyebrows draw together in concern. He gives my hands a light squeeze.

"And I you, Elizabeth," he replies, "I admit it has been quite lonely since you left me, very much like after your mother died. There doesn't seem to be anything that can fill that space sufficiently."

I nod, swallowing hard, and understanding the loneliness that he speaks of so candidly. Even Anne's presence is not enough to fill the role of parent, teacher, and friend in James' great house. With a shuddering breath and a quivering smile I say, "You know you are welcome to visit James and I whenever you wish."

Father shakes his head, lets my hands drop, and reaches for his teacup.

"I do not wish to intrude," he says carefully, "I know how difficult these first weeks and months are, and it will only compound them further with my presence. Surely you understand that?"

I nod, disappointed, and take up my cup but do not drink. He is right, as usual, though I do not want to admit it, even to myself. A visit from him would give me an easy way out; it would allow me to be preoccupied with my father instead of preoccupied with my marriage. At once I feel both anger and gratitude toward him for recognizing my motives.

"You know you look more and more like your mother?" Father says after a brief silence.

My hand self-consciously goes to my stomach, but Father's eyes remain locked on my face.

"It's because I'm having a baby," I say with a hint of bitterness, but Father shakes his head defiantly.

"No, not at all," he replies sincerely, "It's the confidence that I can see radiating from you. You may not be able to feel it, but I know it is there. I heard what happened to Lord and Lady Norrington the other evening."

Heat rushes into my cheeks, and my grip on my teacup tightens.

"How did you hear about that?" I whisper, mortified.

Father chuckles lightly at my reaction and reaches across the table to pat my hands reassuringly as he replies, "It matters not. All that matters is that your confidence has been held in regard by many of those who thought ill of you not long ago."

I shake my head, bemused, and down another sip of tea.

"Do people in this town not have more pressing matters to worry about?" I ask.

"Unfortunately not, my dear," Father says, "It is the price we pay for living in such a paradise."

_A poor price to pay, indeed_.

* * *

Even after leaving Father and arriving back home I am hardly afforded a few minutes peace from the people of Port Royal before there is more knocking on the front door. I can just barely make it out from where I am holed up in the library, tucked into an alcove with a book in hand. A few minutes pass in silence, in which my eyes move across the page without truly reading the words, and then Anne appears in the doorway.

"Mrs. Gillette to see you, Ma'am," she says with a slight curtsy before slipping back out of the open library door.

Before I have a moment to compose myself Rachel enters the room hurriedly, and just as I set my book aside, she immediately takes both of my hands in hers as she did back at the ball only a few months ago.

"Look at you," she cries with delight, and I cannot help smiling down at the small life hovering between us, "You look very much like a lovely mother-to-be should!"

"You are too kind, Rachel," I say quietly, as she sinks down next to me on the cushioned window seat. Only then does she let go of my hands to fold her own in her lap. An awkward silence stretches between us before we both speak at the same time.

"How is Andrew?"

"Elizabeth, I wanted to –"

We both subside into nervous giggles, and then I motion for her to speak before me. She takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. There is a heavy seriousness in them that causes me to lean forward.

"I wanted to let you know that no matter what you have my loyalty and support. I realise how difficult it must be for you right now, and I would like to extend the hand of amity in the hope that we may become fast friends."

"Rachel, I am very . . . grateful," I say, slightly taken aback by her forwardness, "but we hardly know one another!"

Rachel smiles warmly and replies easily, "Is that not the way all friendships begin?"

"Well, yes . . ."

She looks at me expectantly, and although I am aware there is something about those bright green eyes of hers that draws me in and speaks to the authenticity of her affection for both James and I, I am also slightly wary of giving away too much of myself having been the object of cruel gossip and ridicule for weeks on end. Seeing none of that scorn or animosity in her features I nod. In profound joy at my decision Rachel reaches over and clasps one of my hands in her own, shaking it gently.

"You have no idea how wonderfully happy you have made me," she says, her eyes crinkled with pleasure, "I love my husband dearly, but it will be good to have a fellow woman to confide in."

"I can imagine so," I say, and then pause, looking down at my lap. I lower my voice, and Rachel leans in closer to hear me, "I understand what you mean. It has been difficult considering the situation between James and I. It is oftentimes quite lonely."

Rachel's eyes furrow at the corners again as she gives me a sympathetic though not piteous look.

"But you are never truly alone," she says quietly, "That baby is company enough I am sure."

"Do not misunderstand me," I continue in hushed tones, "but you are mistaken. I may carry this child with me, but right now I do not yet know how I feel about it. Is it absolutely terrible to say that I do not love it yet?"

Her face falls momentarily, and I fear I have said the wrong thing.

"No, I understand," she says after a moment, "though I pray that you will love it soon enough. I cannot bear to see a child go unloved, especially . . . especially since I am unable- ."

"Unable to have one yourself?" I whisper, shocked by the suddenness of this announcement but immediately aware of the pain I must cause her.

She closes her eyes and swallows hard. It is the first time I have seen any trace of a smile wiped clean from her face. When she opens her eyes again they are full of grief and a deep, drowning sadness. With a brief nod she confirms my question. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and my throat tightens uncomfortably just looking at her.

"Rachel, if I had known-," I offer.

She shakes her head and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It would make no difference," she says, her voice constricted with emotion, "I have accepted what I have been given, and I am grateful, more than anything, for a loving husband who puts my needs before his own."

She hiccups then, her lip trembling, before she bursts into tears that she had resolutely been attempting to hold down. As she buries her face in her hands I reach out to her tentatively, putting my arms around her and holding her as Estrella once did to me.

"There now," I say softly, and after a few minutes her heaving sobs subside into silence.

Still slightly shaky she breaks away from me and dabs at her eyes again, almost angrily.

"I'm sorry," she says thickly, "I've accepted it, but sometimes my emotions can get the better of me. I don't like to dwell on it."

"There is no need to apologise," I say quickly and sincerely, "You have every right to feel the way you do. Please, do not think otherwise. I appreciate your honesty."

Rachel looks up at me and gives a tentative watery smile.

"I only hope I can help you feel that you may confide in me as well," she says by way of invitation, although I am not sure what it is I should share with her. She has given so much of herself in a matter of minutes that I do not think I will be able to pour my heart out in equal measure. I gape at her, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water as I search for something to say.

"How are you and James?" Rachel prompts gently, and I let out my breath in a rush and quickly look down at my hands.

"It's certainly not like what you and Andrew have," I respond slowly, "He loves me, of that I am sure, but how I feel about him is another matter entirely." I glance at her, and she nods encouragingly. "I am sure you know of my past relationship with William Turner- I mean, it is obvious that there was some sort of understanding between us-"

Quickly I become flustered, but Rachel continues to smile patiently at me as we fall into silence once again.

"It's all right," she says, "I know it's a difficult situation."

"I just don't _love_ him," I stammer, "At least not yet. Nor do I despise him as I once did. I- I am not sure how I feel at all considering the way everything seems to be changing around me rapidly by the day."

"And yet, his love has not wavered," Rachel says thoughtfully, "That is one thing that has not changed."

I remain silent, but in my heart, I know that what she suggests is true; James' love and this child are the only constants in my life amidst a rapidly changing world, a world I sent William into and to which he has since been lost. What it will take to get him back, I do not know. Nor do I know if I now want him back at all. Even as I expound upon the friendship that James and I once had that I so easily threw by the wayside when William appeared in my life the story sounds juvenile to my own ears. There I was, falling in and out of love with wrong man. Or perhaps he is the right man? Understanding the difference is like trying to draw a line where the light meets the darkness: impossibility in itself.

**Authoress' Note:** I rewrote this chapter about a million times. It was a struggle. I hope it doesn't show. :/ Thanks for all the reviews as usual! © Disney.


	32. Silver Lining

**SILVER LINING**

The longboat bumps against the dock, and I heave myself out, weary from an unsuccessful journey. Sailors and women mill about on the dock, and I search vainly for Elizabeth, although I know she will not be here. I cannot have expected things to chance between us in a mere months absence. If anything we will be more alienated from one another than before, and the thought does not comfort me. I catch a glimpse of Rachel's red hair, a dancing flame amongst drab browns and yellows. She seems preoccupied with Andrew, however, so I do not stop by to greet her. Instead, I continue onward to the carriage waiting for me at the docks.

By the time I arrive at the house the sun is beginning to set, and Anne is waiting for me at the open front door from which warm light spills out onto the darkening gravel drive. She takes my coat and sword as I enter, chattering away as usual.

"I hope your voyage was successful, sir," she says cheerfully, as she folds up my coat and places the sword carefully on top, "The missus is in the dining room. You made it just in time for supper, sir."

I nod. "Thank you, Anne. Would you take those up to my room?"

She nods and hurries up the stairs leaving me outside of the dining room alone. The light clinking of china drifts underneath the door, and I attempt to swallow down the nervousness bubbling up in my throat. I slip off my hat and wig and run a hand through my cropped hair. Setting these aside, and feeling more confident, I open the door.

Startled, Elizabeth drops her fork, and hastily stands up, exclaiming, "James!". Her hands go straight to her stomach, and I am momentarily shocked by the swell just visible under the layers of her dress. There is a beat of silence in which I gape, still mildly stunned, while Elizabeth's cheeks redden. Her eyes shift about, avoiding my own, and she finally breaks the moment by bending down to pick up her fork and then sits down in her chair again.

"There's no need to stare," she says quietly, gazing straight ahead and placing the fork beside her plate.

I swallow hard again, heat creeping into my own cheeks. Embarrassed by my reaction, I take my place at the opposite end of the table and sneak a glance at Elizabeth at the other end. She blinks back at me, and then looks away, out of the window at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I'm sorry," I say, picking up my fork and pushing my food around on the plate, "I just did not expect- I mean, I knew . . ."

I trail off and shrug helplessly. She nods though, as though saying that she too understands what it feels like to be so utterly helpless and confused by this situation.

"I wasn't expecting it either," she says, her voice tight and almost painfully thoughtful, "For a while I honestly did not expect it would. It's funny really."

There are tears on the edge of her voice, and in all honesty I do not find the situation humourous at all. She clears her throat and shakes her head as though coming out of a reverie. Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time that evening she truly seems to see me. Looking away after a few seconds with a painful smile, she picks up her fork again.

"How was your voyage?"

I can tell from her tone that she could care less about my voyage, but I commend her for making the effort to keep our longest ever conversation going. Her question, however, is troubling. I debate with myself for a split second on whether I should reveal that I went in search of Will Turner only to have myself persuaded to return home by a prostitute. The only thing that stops me is seeing her so upset already, and instead I reply, "It went well enough. We were waylaid longer than I expected in Baracoa, which is why we were late returning home. You weren't too lonely were you?"

She shakes her head.

"No, Anne was brilliant company, and Rachel came to visit once or twice. I also took the liberty of inviting your parents over for supper one evening."

Surprised, I ask, "And how did that fare?"

There is a gleam in her eye as she replies, one eyebrow arched, "As well as could be expected."

"My mother made it through the entire meal without insulting you?" I ask, incredulous.

"Of course not!" Elizabeth cries, and I am glad to see her smiling at the memory of it, "Somehow she managed to get you in there as well, and that did it. I sent her on her way."

"I wish I could have seen it," I say enthusiastically, "It would have surely been a wonderful thing to behold."

She beams under my praise, but her reply is unexpectantly modest, "I was simply protecting your honour, James, as any wife would her husband."

No matter the modesty, I cannot help smiling more over her acknowledgement of our relationship. She returns my smile briefly as we fall into an easier silence than before. Suddenly, an idea occurs to me.

"Elizabeth, if you're not busy tomorrow, would you care to accompany me down to my ship? I have business there, but I would very much like for you to see it."

She looks up again, surprise on her face this time.

"Yes, if I should not be in the way of course."

"You won't be in the way at all," I respond, as a new hope expands within my chest. A few weeks apart could change everything, no matter how small.

* * *

The next morning we stand at the dock, Elizabeth dressed in a cotton pinstriped dress with a delicate parasol in hand, staring at the small longboat with some trepidation.

Lieutenant David Fletcher offers her his hand with a reassuring smile. "Do not worry, miss. You are under the care of my capable hand."

She hesitates in taking his hand and ponders the boat a while longer.

"I have no doubt of your prowess, Lieutenant," she replies kindly, "It is simply the fact that I have not been on a ship since I was twelve that makes me nervous."

Nevertheless, she takes his hand, and I follow her as she is lowered into the boat. Not long after we begin our short voyage as we cut through the waves, Elizabeth lays her hand on my arm. David pretends not to see the gesture and looks the opposite way, out toward the _Dauntless_.

"I do hate to inconvenience us," she says so that only I can hear, "but I am afraid that I am feeling quite seasick."

I put a hand on her back feeling the jutting ribs of her corset through her thin dress and point toward the horizon.

"Look directly out there, right where the water meets the sky. In a few moments the feeling will pass."

For the remainder of the time spent in the longboat Elizabeth stares resolutely out at the horizon, her right hand working at the wedding ring on her finger. When we finally bump up against the _Dauntless _Elizabeth climbs up the side of the ship without a second thought, and I follow right behind her. The sailors on board immediately cease their work when they see her.

"Morning boys," I call.

"Mornin' sir!"

"Boys, I would like you to meet my wife, Elizabeth," I say, motioning toward her with a nod of my head.

She steps forward and curtsies, bowing her head as though she were meeting the very gentility of England and not a group of rough and tumble sea men. Some doff their caps in return, wringing them in their hands, and scuffing their feet on the decking, while some mumble a "Good morning" or a "How d'ya do, miss?" One of them, a seaman by the name of Roger, shuffles forward contritely and says, "Yer as beau'iful as the Commodore described you, miss."

There are nods all around, and Elizabeth blushes furiously, clasping her hands tightly behind her back. Roger then turns to me and dips his head in a slight bow.

"Sir, there's an issue I been meanin' to discuss with you concernin' the overtime pay for many of us seaman who went with you to Tortuga."

For a split second, as she turns away, Elizabeth's shoulders tense, and she glances back momentarily at the sound of the name. I quickly usher my foolhardy seaman in the opposite direction, and when I look back I convince myself that I had imagined Elizabeth's reaction entirely. After sending Roger up into the rigging I watch Elizabeth from the helm as she makes her way around the ship, occasionally speaking with some of my men without getting in the way of their duties.

When she reaches the stern, she turns her back on the activities around her and leans on the railing looking out to the open ocean. I can only imagine what she may be thinking of, and seeing her stand thus, I am struck by how similar she looks to her twelve year old self waiting on the cusp of a new life in a new world. It seems her situation has not changed much.

**Authoress' Note: **Sorry for the rushed chapter. I combined two in one and wasn't sure how to split it otherwise. I'm an exchange programme at a school in the U.S. this semester, and I've been a way for a few weeks while moving in and getting used to my new surroundings. It's been a bit of a difficult transition.


	33. You Sit There In Your Heartache

**YOU SIT THERE IN YOUR HEARTACHE**

Elizabeth is reading in the sitting room when I return home from the fort later that evening. I watch her from the doorway for a moment, admiring the way the guttering candlelight reflects off of her pale skin. Hearing me enter, however, she shuts her book and runs her hand across the cover, her brow furrowed. She twists around toward me, holding the novel to her chest.

"James," she begins slowly, her eyes boring into mine, "One of your men today mentioned something about a voyage to Tortuga. What was that about?"

My stomach plummets, but I answer calmly enough.

"I have no idea. He was simply rambling. Enough sea and air can do that to a man."

She narrows her gaze, frowning at my response. Her hands reflexively tighten around her book.

"_Don't lie to me_," she whispers, "Why did you go to Tortuga?"

Immediately, the tension between us snaps, and I know we both won't be able to hold back the anger and frustration we have built up against one another despite all efforts to push it down and out of sight.

"Why do you care? Have you got something to hide?" I hiss back, my temper flaring.

"I _don't_ care," she says defensively, standing up hastily, "I just want to know why you _lied_ to me."

I move toward her so that we are mere centimetres from each other, and she shrinks back slightly. My voice is menacingly low as I reply, "I went to find William Turner, but he wasn't there, all right? Are you content that he has managed to escape?"

"You shouldn't have been looking for him in the first place!" Elizabeth cries indignantly.

"Yes, I should have," I shoot back, "He has taken everything from me, and I have a right- "

"A right to do what?" Elizabeth asks, "A right to duel him? A right to _kill_ him?"

I grasp her arm with one hand, but she shrugs me away.

"Look, Elizabeth, listen to me-"

She _tsks_ heatedly and draws her arms across her chest.

"No, you listen to me," she says crossly, "He _hasn't_ taken anything from you. I married you, didn't I? And now he is gone. I don't know where, and you don't know where. No one does, and you shouldn't be jeopardizing our marriage to go in search of him." As she speaks her anger melts into tears as I wilt under the disgust radiating from her, "Why can't you just let it be?"

"Elizabeth, I-"

She bursts completely into tears then, shaking her head, and before I can reach out to her she hurries from the room her book still tucked in her arms. Moments later a door slams upstairs causing dust to fall like snow from the ceiling. I take a deep breath and clench my fists by my side. This is not over yet.

Turning on my heel, I march out of the sitting room and up the stairs. Once on the landing I steady myself, listening. Elizabeth's unmistakable weeping seeps out of a half closed door at the end of the corridor, and I take another breath to calm my unsteadiness. Stepping lightly so as not to startle her, I push the door open further and examine the scene. She is sitting on the window seat in front of one of the large bay windows overlooking the grounds below with her face buried in the crook of her arm. Her shoulders shake uncontrollably, and for a moment I am allowed to see just how vulnerable she is; that she is absolutely terrified.

"Elizabeth," I say softly, moving toward her.

She looks up, slightly disoriented for a moment, but when her bleary eyes land on me she scowls and looks away again. I sit down on the opposite side of the window seat. Her hands are splayed in her lap, and she allows me to take one of them in my own, though it remains limp as I hold it.

"You are right," I begin, and though it pains me to admit defeat, it is worth it to see the surprise in her eyes, "You are right about everything. I should not have gone in search of William. I should not have accused him of taking you from me," I pause and squeeze her hand with a slight smile, "Because I do have you."

She gives me a blank stare, and I continue speaking to her, my eyes fixed on a mark on the wall just past her.

"Yet, at the same time . . . I do not have you."

I hold up my hand as she opens her mouth to protest.

"You must let me elaborate," I say kindly, but firmly, and she closes her mouth, "I have taken much from you. I realise that now. But I beg of you to consider my side. I love you, Elizabeth, more than you can know, and I have married you knowing that you do not love me in return. I cannot claim our wedding night or our first child, because both are William Turner's. I understand I have chosen that fate for myself. I understand I could have let you go. But it is not so simple. Nothing ever is _that _simple. Do you see now why I had to find him? I know it was wrong. But do you see? I have taken the scorn of others again and again, and I have taken on the trouble of carrying your burden as my own. If you feel anything at all for me, I hope you feel no hatred. That is all I ask."

Glistening teardrops create a sheen of light over Elizabeth's brown eyes, and when she blinks they spill in miniscule rivulets down her cheeks. She takes in a shuddering breath, twisting her hand out of my grasp and entwining it with her own in her lap. She shakes her head.

"No," she says shakily, "I do not hate you, James. I did once, but God knows I cannot anymore. I am only sorry you could not have loved a more deserving woman."

She leaves the room again, but this time I do not follow her. I could run after her and argue that it isn't about whether we deserve one another, but at this point, she would not understand.

* * *

After leaving James' presence again, I go to my room where I know I can be alone. That is one thing that is understood fully between James and myself. The room, though it is part of the house that he owns, is mine alone. I shut the door behind me and lean against it, breathing hard. Cross with myself for becoming so emotional I swipe at the tears collected under my eyes and move toward the writing desk in the corner. Opening up the top drawer, I rummage in the back and press the hidden lever that flips the faux bottom upward revealing a single folded parchment inside.

I take it out, holding it to my chest, and carefully slide the drawer shut again before sitting down on the bed. The parchment unfolds easily as though it has been read many times through already, and it has, though I received it only a day ago. The letter itself has been written in a charcoal or rock of some kind, and at parts it is difficult to decipher. I hold it up to the light emanating from the window and read it once more.

_Elizabeth,_

_I have reached Virginia, one of the thirteen colonies and have acquired an apprenticeship cutting lumber to be shipped to England. It is a difficult trade and one I am not used to, but the thought of you makes it more bearable. The wages are low, but my employer is fair, and I have hopes of saving enough money to build a home for us soon. I know you cannot respond to me in your present situation, but I can feel that you are all right, so I know it must be true. Keep faith._

_William_

I swallow hard at the sickening hope radiating from the page in my hands. In some ways it is almost too much to bear. I cannot help hearing James' words, and again I am cut by my own cruelty in leading him on in such a way. If only he knew, then he would understand that he does not deserve me. I fold the letter up again, clenching it in my fist and debating whether I should reveal everything to James now or simply walk away when I have the chance. My mind screams at me to walk away, but my heart begs to differ. Bewildered and confused, I hide the letter once more and curl up on my bed suddenly fatigued from the events of the day.

In a state of varying degrees of consciousness my mind drifts from James to Anne, and then to Rachel. Sweet Rachel, living in a world at once full of blissful ignorance and the bitter fruit of truth. It pains me to hurt her after she has given her heart to me so freely; Anne as well, but if I am ever to see William again then hurt them I must.

**Authoress' Note:** Oh no, what's Elizabeth going to do now? She is a tricky little blighter. Thanks for sticking with me on this story! I very much appreciate all of your lovely reviews. Can't wait to hear from all of you. © Disney


	34. A Great Escape

**A GREAT ESCAPE**

The deck of the _Dart_ rolls underneath me in the early morning tide. In the distance the rising sun is merely a thin pink line bleeding out from the darkened horizon. It is only the third time I have been on a ship, and this time I am embarking on my own without the familiar presence of my father, James, or Will. Stepping onto the unsteady deck I follow the line of rough and tumble men, women, and children toward an open hatch that leads to the lower decks. There is a man with a ledger waiting to take my name and age for the ship's register, and I make sure my hair is tucked up out of sight in my mob cap and pinch my cheeks a few times to give them a ruddy look. I resist, however, the urge to smooth down the apron over the serving dress I took from Anne's stash so as not to draw attention to the babe I carry.

I reach the front of the line and duck my head, keeping my eyes cast down, to feign shyness. The seaman taking the ledger lifts the edge of my mob cap to peer at me. I glance up quickly, hoping he will take me for a simple, modest maid. He gives me an unexpectedly gentle smile and taps the ledger with his free hand.

"Name and age, Miss," he says gruffly, allowing my cap to fall back over my forehead.

"Hannah Watson, twenty-one," I say shyly, but loud enough that I will not have to repeat myself.

The seaman writes in his ledger, and then I follow the woman in front of me down into the darkness of the next level of the ship. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the pitch-blackness, and I hug my rucksack to my chest to keep it from being knocked out of my hands. There is a somewhat controlled chaos around me as families and people jostle each other to claim bunk space together. One woman, with a small child resting on her hip with his small arms clinging about her neck, is already putting up sheets around their bunk area to retain some sense of privacy.

There is a small knot of young women off to my right. They look like they are in the serving trade, and they are silent and wary as they settle into their bunks. They do not seem to know each other and are making no effort to make introductions, so I slip in amongst them. It does not take long for me to get settled up in the wooden bunks with only my thin shawl wrapped around my shoulders for warmth and comfort. At some point amongst the din the hatch door is closed, and we are thrown into further darkness.

The passage of time is difficult to discern down in the belly of the ship. At some point, as I rest with my back up against the hull, I realise that we are moving as ocean waves slap against the ship's sides sending us pitching and rolling. As the hours pass I attempt to resist the thoughts of James and my father distraught and pacing, but I cannot push the images away. The more I try to reassure myself that I am doing what is best the more I begin to doubt myself.

If it is possible the hold we are staying in becomes darker as night falls. I hunker down under my shawl and use my rucksack as a pillow while all around me everyone else attempts to do the same. The sounds of the sea swirling and moving around us is deafening, but it does not drown out the cries of children, the whisper of prayers, nor the hacking coughs of the ill. My sleep is fitful and full of confusing dreams. In one, my father is crying, but I cannot reach him, and when I wake there are tears on my own cheeks. When morning dawns I continue to sleep hoping that if I can keep my eyes closed long enough I will simply wake up and find myself in William's arms.

Even now I do not know if William's arms would hold the same comfort that they used to. There is a conflict raging in my heart that I have denied until now, and it seems the worst possible moment to make sense of anything in light of the rash and daft actions I have taken in the last day. Less than two weeks ago as I lay in my room, clutching Will's letter in one hand, the idea of leaving my life in Jamaica behind and finding him seemed like a worthwhile escape effort. In hindsight, as I sit alone on this rocking ship, it was stupid and downright dangerous. I know I am on a ship bound for the colonies, but I have no way of knowing exactly where we will let off. I have no money, no food, and no contacts. I am lost, and it is _my_ fault.

When I awaken the other side of the bed is empty and unruffled as usual. Elizabeth has not shared my bed in some time, and in some way I have grown used to it. I will not deny, however, the hope I can barely repress that I will wake to find her head resting on the pillow next to me. With a sigh that borders on a groan of frustration I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get up. Groggily, I dress and make my way down to the dining room where smells of breakfast waft in from the kitchen. The room is empty and silent accept for the sounds of Anne bustling about in the adjacent room.

I sit down at the table as usual, mildly puzzled, and call to Anne, "Where is Elizabeth?"

Anne opens the door, her brows knit together, and says, "Perhaps she's still asleep, sir. Shall I check on her?"

"Please, would you?" I ask with a nod and a smile.

Anne ducks back into the kitchen briefly, returns carrying her usual breakfast fare on a plate that she sets in front of me, and then hurries upstairs. I listen carefully as she crosses the front hall, climbs the stairs, and then her footsteps are overhead as she walks down the second floor corridor. There is a pause in her footsteps, and then suddenly she is running back down the corridor. I throw down my napkin and hurry from the room, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sir, she's gone!" Anne cries, out of breath, "She's left!"

"Gone? Left?" I echo faintly, "Gone where?"

"I don't know, sir. There's no note or nothing." She gazes at me worriedly with her hands wringing themselves into knots. "I'll ask Thomas if the carriage has been out this morning."

"A sensible thing to do, Anne," I say as she hurries back into the dining room and through the kitchen door. As soon as she is gone I sit down on the nearest stair step and press my face against my palms in an attempt to keep tears from falling.

There is a knot of anxiety just below my ribcage, and no matter how many deep breaths I take to calm myself it will not dissipate. I swallow hard to keep myself from being sick and work at assessing the situation. _She left . . . _ there seems to be no other explanation for her sudden and stealthy departure. I know she is in pursuit of William Turner, there is no denying that fact, but where he could be there is no telling. I take another deep breath and steady my shaking hands on the edges of the step, clasping them until my knuckles turn white. Standing up hastily at Anne's arrival I put on what I hope is a calm face in light of the chaos that lies before us.

"No one has gone in the carriage, sir," she says, breathless and quiet. There is a few seconds of silence, and then she speaks, her voice trembling with emotion, "What are we going to do?"

I can tell the poor woman in front of me is making every effort to keep a brave face, and it pains me to see her in such distress that I am forced to turn away as I respond.

"I will check with the dock master for the shipping news. He will have a record of any passenger vessels that left this morning. If I can find the ship's name and its course then I will only be a day behind them on the _Dauntless_. I'll rendezvous with them easily."

"And then what, sir?"

I glance at Anne with silent tears glistening on her pale cheeks.

"I'll bring her home."

The next forty-eight hours are some of the worst of my life. I am lucky, when I speak with the dock master, to find that only one passenger vessel left this morning, the _Dart._ It is headed for a Spanish port in Florida, most likely unbeknownst to Elizabeth, and as I assemble my crew I can only thank God that it is a nearby and easily reachable port. I will catch up with them effortlessly. I must catch up with them. I cannot allow Elizabeth to slip away so easily. Perhaps it is a fault of my character, but no matter how many times she rips my heart out, I am always more than willing to sew it back up just so it can be torn out again.

**Authoress' Note:** Hello everyone! Sorry for the rough return – my exchange programme is going well, but it has obviously been keeping me busy. I hope I still have some readers out there. Also, I must apologise for this chapter, and the following one. I didn't intend to put them into the story, but I want to take the story in a different direction, so they seem necessary. The quality, however, isn't up to my usual standards.


	35. So Rightfully Mine

**SO RIGHTFULLY MINE**

- Elizabeth's POV -

We are not many days from Port Royal when I wake bathed in sweat and breathing hard. I do not have the strength to push myself into a sitting position, so I turn over on my side and draw my shawl closer around me to ward off the chill that sweeps over my body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempt to sleep again, but no matter how fatigued I feel I cannot achieve unconsciousness. There is a dull ache in my stomach that worsens as the hours pass. I press my hand against it feeling for the baby's heartbeat underneath my skin. It is with this faint rhythm pulsing through me that I am finally able to sleep again.

The hours continue to pass in a blur of sound and shifting shades of gloom. I can feel and hear the movement of other passengers in the hold, but no one speaks to me that I am aware of, so I continue to sleep, hoping that whatever illness I have will wear off with the passage of time. At some point I find myself retching violently in my sleep, and I wake up in a pool of my own vomit. Sticky with sweat and slightly delirious from fatigue and lack of water I vomit again into the tin I have been given for my meals, of which I have eaten little.

There is a bucket of fresh water on the floor in the middle of the room, but I am unable to reach it, and instead I collapse, unconscious, back into my own filth. At some point a shaking on my shoulder awakens me, and a young woman comes into focus. She holds a candle close to my face and pulls back, startled, at the sight of me. She speaks quickly and quietly to someone else nearby, but I do not hear or understand her as everything falls into a cottony silence once again.

- James' POV -

I eye the _Dart_ through a long-glass and note the lack of a crew aboard the ship. They must have already disbanded, and therefore the passengers will no longer be aboard. I grit my teeth, snap the long-glass closed, and hope that Elizabeth is still somewhere within the town. We made it here in record time – in fact, the _Dart_ stayed just within sight of my long-glass until she made berth this very morning. We did not catch up, however, for a half hour afterward, and it will be another half hour in the longboats before we reach shore.

It is one of the longest longboat excursions I have ever experienced, and I leap out of the craft as soon as it bumps against the pier. Leaving Commander Davis to deal with explaining the situation to the dock master I sprint down the length of the harbour and up the hill to the fort that sits perched amongst the green glades of Florida's coastland. Directly within my sight there is a young man, a lieutenant possibly, who is startled by my haphazard and sudden appearance. I can only pray that he speaks enough English to understand me.

"_Hablas inglés_?" I ask him, clutching at a stitch in my side.

Looking slightly bewildered he nods hesitantly, and I continue on not wanting to waste one precious minute.

"There is a passenger ship down there, the _Dart_. Do you know it?"

Another hesitant affirmative nod is enough for me to plough onward.

"Where can I find the captain?" I ask, my throat hoarse.

This time the young man speaks with a thick accent, "_El capitán_, he is inside. There was a girl – _muy_ sick . . ."

I am already running before he has finished his sentence, and now my heart is beating somewhere up in my throat as I turn corners and push passed confused men in uniform searching for the infirmary. _Oh God, if I am too late . . . _

And then I am there. Slowing to a walk at the end of the corridor I move toward a large obviously English man who is wringing his hat in his hands and speaking to another man in broken Spanish. As I pull up short in front of them the two men look at me, surprised, and I must resist the urge to simply push passed them and enter the doors in front of me that I know must lead to Elizabeth.

"Sir, are you the captain of the _Dart_?"

The man with the hat looks me up and down, perhaps taking in the fact that there is a commodore standing in front of him.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Excellent," I say, rushing onward, "I am looking for a young woman. She is with child . . . she has brown hair and eyes-"

"You say she was with child?" the captain asks, dismay settling over his face, "I know her. She is very ill- she is just inside."

I make a move toward the doors, but the captain places a firm hand on my arm to stop me.

"She is very ill, sir," he says again, extremely grave, "There was much blood. I'm afraid she may have lost the baby."

My heart, which until that moment had been beating underneath my Adam's apple, plummets straight down to my stomach. A cold terror settles there and begins to spread throughout my body so that my hands are shaking as I push open the doors to the infirmary.

To my surprise there is a single doctor in the room. I was expecting the worst –blood, chaos, screaming . . . But no, it is just an older gentleman leaning over the inert form of a young woman. There is blood still on the white linen placed over her body, but just underneath that linen I can still see the steady rise and fall of her chest. I do not allow myself to hope as I approach the doctor who straightens as I near him.

"Can I help you, sir?" he says with a slight accent.

I look down at Elizabeth's pale, but peaceful face surrounded by her brown hair that flows like waves over the pillow.

"This is my wife," I say quietly, not wishing to disturb her rest, "How is she?"

The doctor's face remains unreadable as he motions for me to follow him away from Elizabeth's bed. When we are out of earshot he speaks again in a lowered voice.

"She was very ill when she arrived," he says carefully, "She was feverish and had not eaten or taken water in several days. Apparently she could not hold anything down. It sounded like an infection to me. By the time she arrived here she was unconscious . . . there was blood everywhere. I thought she had miscarried . . ."

"You _thought-_"

The doctor suddenly holds up a hand to silence me, and we both turn to look at Elizabeth who stirs restlessly. Her eyes flutter open, and my breath hitches in my throat, as I watch her take in her surroundings. One hand shrugs itself out from under the covers and lights first on the swell of her stomach, then on her cheek and forehead. Gingerly, she turns her head to the side, and her gaze finds mine. She does not shrink back or seem surprised to see me here, so I approach her cautiously, moving deliberately between the beds until I lower myself next to her.

Her eyes are fixed up toward the ceiling, and the trembling of her chin tells me she is fighting back tears. I lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she does not move. There is a beat of silence, and then suddenly she bursts into tears and is struggling to sit up. I sit down on the edge of the bed, and she collapses into my arms burying her face in her hands. I wrap my arms around her, tears forming in my own eyes out of sheer gratefulness at seeing her alive. I press my lips against her hair as she continues to cry, until her weeping subsides into silence.

"What were you thinking, Elizabeth?" I ask her quietly, stroking her hair.

She takes a shuddering breath and glances up at me.

"I don't deserve you, James," she replies, "I thought if I found Will life would be better . . . easier."

"I don't care if you think I deserve you," I say quietly but fiercely, "You are my wife. I have vowed to have and hold you all the days of my life, and I intend to do just that no matter what may come our way. Perhaps I should have let you go . . ."

Elizabeth stiffens in my arms and sits up straighter. "No, James, you did what was right. I . . . ran because I was afraid. I ran because I did not know any better. I still have quite a bit of growing up to do, James, and I am sorry you have been caught in the middle of it."

"Do not be so harsh on yourself," I say, tucking a strand of Elizabeth's hair behind her ear, "Let me help you. Let me grow with you. We are all still learning, dear one. Surely you know that?"

"I just seem to stumble more often than others," she whispers so that I can barely hear her.

I neither confirm nor deny this, but instead release her from my embrace. She remains sitting up, lost in thought, with one hand resting on the swell under her dress. This seems to surprise her, and she turns to me with wide eyes.

"I completely forgot about the baby!" she cries, and my eyes meet hers, wild with emotion.

"Is it-"

I trail off, unsure of what to ask of a child that is not mine. She takes my hand gently and rests it against her stomach. To my astonishment, there is a light fluttering there, like the wings of a butterfly, barely discernable underneath the fabric and her skin.

"It's all right," Elizabeth breathes, and I can hear the relief in her voice, "The heartbeat is still there right where I left it."

I take my hand away quickly as a shiver courses through my body. I feel elated, like there is a bubble of warm air expanding in my chest, and it is only compounded by the fact that there is a small life still fluttering between us with the power to mend the heartstrings of an otherwise ravished heart.

**Authoress' Note:** Again, I apologise for the very long hiatus I went on before the previous chapter. I am hoping to have this story wrapped up over the Christmas holidays, so please don't worry your pretty heads about that. Also, it's lovely to know there are people out there still enjoying this. (Also-also, I apologise for the "POV cue cards" placed in between scenes. I had a few complaints of confusion from readers…)


	36. A Day Without Rain

**A DAY WITHOUT RAIN**

There is not much change in the seasons of Port Royal. It is warm and sunny most of the year, except during the winter months when it is cloudy more often than not, and there is a constant struggle between fine mists and torrential downpours throughout the day. It is on one of these days, at the dawn of November, and only a few days after bringing Elizabeth home, when I find her alone in the library.

She is curled up in an armchair, as best as she can considering the circumstances, and is watching the torrent pounding against the windowpanes, blurring visions of the Jamaican jungle beyond. Her brow is furrowed, and she seems to be deep in thought when I knock on the library door to announce my arrival. She glances up and gives me a tentative smile before shifting into a more comfortable position.

"How are you feeling?" I ask. It is a mantra I have repeated over and over again to her since our arrival back in Port Royal not long ago, but she never seems to grow tired of answering to at least assuage my general concern.

Her hand immediately goes to her stomach, more visible despite being underneath all that fabric. She lays her hand flat upon it, and I am taken aback by the tender smile on her lips. She seems lost for a moment, and then she looks up.

"I'm fine," she says quietly, "And you, James?"

"Well enough," I respond with a nod, "Look, I've been thinking over the past few days that we need to get away for a bit."

Elizabeth's brow crinkles again.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was talking to Andrew down at the fort, and he suggested we get out of the house for the day and come see them. They live far enough out of town, and I thought it might be a nice escape for the two of us," I offer, "Besides, I think Rachel might be in need of some female company for a change."

Elizabeth considers this thoughtfully for a moment and then nods.

"Are they expecting us on a certain day?"

I am delighted by her response, but at the same time, I am wary of her saddened tone underneath her enthusiasm. She answers in such a way that suggests her entire heart is not in it. Even as she responds she turns away slightly seemingly distracted once again by some thought or idea.

"No, they are not expecting us a certain day. Andrew said we could come any time we fancy. I thought perhaps we could go tomorrow if the rain lets up."

She nods absently and goes back to looking out of the window as though our conversation never happened.

- Elizabeth's POV -

The rain, however, does not let up for several days, and it is already into the second week of November before we are able to get away from the confines of home. That morning, though it is still overcast and humid, we clamber into the carriage and set off for the Gillette's home about an hour inland. James and I sit crammed next to each other, and it does not take long before the constant swaying of the carriage lulls me to sleep.

Sometime later I am shaken awake gently, and I blink rapidly and push a strand of hair out of my eyes. Rachel is bent over in the front garden, her skirts hiked up, and she looks up, wiping sweat from her brow, as we approach and come to a stop at the gate. A smile lights up her face when she realises who we are, and she wipes her hands hurriedly on her apron before coming to the gate. James helps me down from the carriage, and I rub my neck absentmindedly to ease the tension knotted into it.

"Elizabeth! James! What a delightful surprise," Rachel cries, ushering us in through the front gate and up the front steps into the house, "Andrew's out at the fort, but he should be back soon. Do sit down, and I'll make some tea."

She bustles out of the room, and a few moments later she can be heard rustling about in the kitchen. James leads me into the sitting room and looks on with concern as I struggle to lower myself into a chair. Finally seated I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand that does not slip past James' notice.

"Did you sleep well?" he murmurs.

I rub absently at my neck again and grimace slightly.

"Well enough considering the circumstances," I say, and then shake my head, perplexed, "I have no idea why I am so tired all the time. I've been sleeping well at night, and I haven't been doing anything particularly strenuous during the day."

James' eyes meet mine, and we both know exactly why I am so tired, but there is a mutual agreement between us not to say anything about it, at least not right now. Suddenly, Rachel appears carrying a tray with teacups and a steaming teapot. She sets about pouring cups full of hot brown liquid and passes them around.

"So, what brings you all the way out here?" Rachel asks, taking a sip of her tea carefully.

James glances at me, and his hand twitches as though he is about to place it on my arm or shoulder, but he refrains.

"We just thought it would be nice to get away for the day."

Rachel nods, "Well, you know you are always welcome here."

"That is why we came to you first," James says kindly.

Rachel laughs, and shakes her head, her red hair spilling out of its coiffure, "We aren't exactly the epitome of entertainment, James."

She suddenly cocks her head, listening, and sets her teacup down on the tea table.

"I think Andrew is home," she says slowly, preparing to stand up. Just then he enters the house and bellows, "Rach, whose carriage is out front? Oh."

He turns the corner into the sitting room, and immediately his face breaks into a grin at the sight of us around the tea table.

"James!" he cries boisterously, extending his hand, "I was wondering why you weren't down at the fort-"

They banter back and forth with one another for a moment before Rachel nudges me in the arm. Raising one eyebrow she asks, "Would you care for a turn in the garden? We've got some lovely shade trees, and I am certain it would be more interesting than listen to these two get on like they haven't seen each other in years."

I suppress a smile.

"Yes, of course."

We slip out the back door and walk off in the direction of a small grove of trees at the edge of the property. Small talk about the weather and the baby passes between us, but once we are in the shade of the trees I ask Rachel, "How did you meet Andrew? If you do not mind me asking."

"Not at all! I was wondering when you would ask," Rachel replies comfortably, picking a few leaves off the nearest tree and letting them fall to the ground, "I am not from England. I was born in Scotland, the oldest of eight children. I left after the birth of the last one and went to England for work. It was not easy. Many were wary of my accent and the fact that I was a woman looking for work. I was in Southampton when I met Andrew, and by the time he was ordered to Jamaica we were inseparable. We married right before we left, and we have been here for four years since."

"Four years," I mouth, my eyes wide, "I can hardly imagine James and I being married for that long. We will be lucky to make it to a year I think."

"Tush," Rachel says, "You two are doing well enough."

Changing the subject Rachel asks, "And how did _you_ come to Port Royal?"

I easily rattle off the story. "My mother died when I was very young, and my father and I were never close. When he was given the title of governor I think he looked on it as a chance to start afresh. We came to Port Royal when I was eleven or twelve. It was an immense change for the both of us."

"And that is when you met William Turner?"

I nod, hesitant to answer too many questions about the exact nature of my relationship with him after he left Port Royal.

"And you have no idea where he has gone?" Rachel asks innocently, genuine concern on her face. Sometimes I am not sure whether she is rooting for James and I or Will and I.

For a moment I sit poised to tell her about my secret correspondence with William, but then I remember that she knows nothing about my escapade to the Florida coast or James' gallant effort to bring me back home. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but when I open my mouth I merely breathe, "No, I do not."

Rachel does not look crestfallen or upset but simply leans back against the tree nearest her and does not press any further. It is a trait that I love about her, and I tell her so, to which she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

"I would not dare tell you what to do, Elizabeth," she says, "Not when you are such an independent and strong minded woman. It would be hypocritical of me to do so, and I fear it would damage the friendship we have been tentatively building."

I smile in return, and then decide that now would be the moment to bring up an idea that has persisted in my mind since arriving home, an idea that I have yet to share with James. However, now that I am on the verge of revealing it to Rachel I am aware that she may not take it well.

"Rachel, I have a question," I begin slowly.

Rachel nods, her face eager, as she urges me to continue.

"What would you say – or do, I suppose – if I were to tell you that you could . . . have a baby?" I say the last part in a rush, my heart beating traitorously in my chest.

Rachel narrows her eyes suspiciously and responds carefully, "I would be ecstatic naturally. You know my situation – any child would be welcome in my home. Why do you ask?" Suddenly, her eyes widen in shock. "Elizabeth, you're not- you- What are you saying?"

"I think you know," I say quietly, taking her hand and placing it gently on the swell of my belly underneath my gown. I can feel her hand trembling like a leaf, but whether it is from emotion or something else, I am not sure. "I have been thinking about this for some time. Rachel, I want you and Andrew to take the baby. If you will have it, of course. I do not know how to explain the way I feel. I love this child more and more each day, but James and I are so dysfunctional; we are still working out exactly what sort of relationship we have, and I do not want any child of mine to grow up amidst such confusion. You and Andrew are wonderful and so much more deserving than I am-"

"Elizabeth, I understand you, and I am so extremely grateful for your offer. Never in my wildest dreams could I have thought a child would come our way, and now that I am faced with your proposal I do not know what to say," Rachel is nearly breathless as she speaks, and I can see her fighting to hold back what I know are joyful tears. "My heart tells me to say yes immediately, but my head tells me otherwise. I must speak with Andrew first, and I am sure you have yet to speak with James. He will want to know. There are so many things to consider, and I want them all to be thought out before we proceed. After all, we have some time yet."

Rachel takes her hand reluctantly from my stomach and folds it back in her lap. Her gaze, however, remains where her hand was for a few seconds longer. She speaks quickly in the lull that follows.

"When we go back in the house I will propose to Andrew that you and James take a short holiday in our home this Christmas. We will stay with a gentlewoman I know in town. We will have plenty of time to talk to our respective spouses, and when we meet again after Christmas we will have sure answers for each other. I know it is terribly diplomatic, but what do you think?"

"It seems to be the best way to do it," I say, and a thick, contemplative silence falls between us once again.

"Are you a bit warm?" Rachel asks after a minute fanning herself, "We've been out here longer than I expected. Perhaps we should go inside and see what the men are up to."

She is right. The sun, just visible underneath the clouds, is already high overhead, and its heat can be felt despite the cover of the trees. We traipse back inside to find James and Andrew in an adjacent room full of books poring over a map on the table. Rachel pauses momentarily in the doorway, and then looks back at me, a glint in her eye the only reminder that our conversation from seconds earlier still weighs heavily on her. She winks at me, and then saunters into the room and wraps her arms around her husband. He straightens up suddenly, surprised by her forwardness in front of others.

"Rachel!"

"Darling, I was thinking-"

"A dangerous past time, my dear," Andrew mutters, earning him self a light punch on the arm. "All right, go on."

"I was thinking as Elizabeth and I were out in the garden that it would be nice to let them borrow the house for a few weeks, to get away for a little while longer."

"A wonderful idea," Andrew begins, and turns toward James, "but I do not think my superior officer can be spared from the fort for that amount of time."

Rachel looks dejected for a moment, and then her eyes light up with another idea.

"He would not need to take off for that long," she says in such a way that makes it seem as though her idea were the most obvious solution in the world, "It is not that far a ride into town you know. Besides I have got it all worked out in my head. I promised Mrs. Ludlow from church that we would stay with her for a few days. She has no children or husband and sits all alone in that great house. I am sure she would be most willing to allow us to stay longer."

I look to James, whose face betrays how uncomfortable he seems to be with the situation. When Rachel looks to him, however, he smiles kindly.

"It really is a wonderful idea, but I cannot allow the two of you to be turned out of your home on account of us."

"But we won't be!" Rachel cries, slightly exasperated, "We will be with Mrs. Ludlow!"

James opens his mouth to decline again, but already I can see that Rachel will not take "no" for an answer. She holds up a hand to stop him.

"I _insist_ James," she says with mock sternness, "but I will hear no more about it. I have made up my mind."

Andrew grins at James and shrugs.

"There is no use arguing," he says, "When my wife has got her mind made up then there is no changing it."

"Right you are," Rachel says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Seeing James' continued reluctance I turn to Rachel myself.

"Write to Mrs. Ludlow and explain the situation. If she will allow you to stay an extra amount of time then send word to me, and we shall come by the end of the month."

Rachel nods, her eyes beaming, and then I turn toward James.

"Will that set your mind at ease?" I ask him gently, "I am positive some further time away from the business of Port Royal will do naught but good."

"Of course," he breathes, capturing one of my hands in his own and giving it a light squeeze. It is the first time he has committed some display of affection toward me in the company of others since our chaste kiss at the wedding altar. Rachel catches my eye, and I blush fiercely though no one else seems to notice.

**Authoress' Note:** Sorry if Elizabeth's proposal came out of nowhere! She's a tricky blighter, and I hardly have any control over her impulses. Thanks for the reviews as always! Late happy Christmas and cheers to a New Year! Hope you all enjoy the extra long chapter. :)


	37. A World Away

**A WORLD AWAY**

"Now I understand why Andrew complains of being so tired all the time down at the fort," James says as we stand side by side, our few possessions in hand, staring at the small, hand made bed that Andrew and Rachel obviously share.

It takes me a moment to understand that he is making a joke, and when I do a blush creeps into my cheeks. James glances at me, laughter in his eyes, and I cannot help smiling back. We each take a few minutes to pack away the few items we brought with us, and then we sit on the opposite edges of the bed. It has been a month or so since I last slept in the same bed as James, and for a moment I am anxious as to how we will handle this new development.

"You are sure there aren't any other bedrooms?" I ask, biting my bottom lip and staring at the back of his head.

"Have a look for yourself, but this seems to be the only bed in the house," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. He twists around to look at me, and when he sees my face he says, "Don't worry. There will be room for us without any problem."

I bite my lip again, watching the sun seem to instantly sink lower on the horizon that I can see peeking through the window. James continues to speak, and I am unsure whether he is reassuring me or not, because everything seems to go mute as we dress for bed. There is no screen available in the room for me to change behind, and I wait until James has turned fully around before struggling with the layers of my dress and pulling my nightgown over my head.

We turn toward the bed then, the room much darker than before. James stands for a moment with his hands on his hips, and then peels back the coverlet and tucks himself in. I take a deep breath, irritably smoothing down the front of my nightgown. Pushing down my apprehension I fling the coverlet aside and slide underneath it as quickly and painfully as one would pour alcohol over a wound.

I have not slept on my back in weeks, and now I remember why. Immediately, the baby presses down on the space just below my rib cage, and when I suck in a shallow breath it is painful. James has his eyes closed and looks asleep, but his light breathing gives him away.

"James, I cannot sleep like this," I say, my voice strained.

His eyes snap open instantly, and he turns his head to look at me in profile.

"You had no problem sleeping next to me a few months ago," he says, sounding slightly hurt.

I shake my head back and forth.

"No, I mean, I can't breathe properly if I sleep on my back. It's quite painful."

He sits up abruptly, his eyebrows drawing together quickly from a face of disappointment to one of concern.

"Perhaps you should shift over on your left side," he suggests.

As I sit up he slips one hand under my left shoulder and another on my arm to help me. I nod at him, and he smiles.

"That is much better," I say, but already I can tell by his face that something else is wrong. "What is it?"

He ponders for a moment, his eyes flitting back and forth across the bed, and then he says slowly, "Well . . . you see, when you sleep that way you take up almost twice as much room, and I suppose I will have to sleep the same way if I want to sleep at all."

He says this all in a very matter of fact way, and I narrow my eyes wondering about his motives. Within a few seconds, however, I realise just what he means. The bed is just too damn small. I think of Rachel then who would laugh heartily if she saw the two of us, and I wonder if she planned it on purpose. In a split second James hunkers down behind me. His knees bump up against the backs of mine, and I tense automatically at the closeness. Suddenly, his breath is hot on my ear.

"Relax," he whispers gently, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, "I am not going to bite you."

He draws away then, his knees still against my legs and his arms filling the space between his chest and my back. In the morning I wake up feeling warmer than usual only to find one of his hands on my waist and his breath in my hair. Extricating myself from him I pull on my dressing gown and make my way downstairs to the kitchen.

For a moment I stand in the doorway in awe gazing around at the assortment of pots and pans and utensils hanging from the ceiling and on the walls. There is a hearth with a chimney and nearby is a large cauldron which, upon further inspection, I find holds water. Firewood is in a stack by the hearth, and with some effort I finally manage to light a fire in it. Just as I place a kettle full of water over the fire to boil for tea I hear movement on the stairs. A few seconds later James appears, his brown hair mussed and his shirt untucked. Leaning against the doorframe, he seems to look me up and down before raising an eyebrow.

"Ever been in a kitchen before?" he asks, the same amusement from the night before in his voice.

I raise an eyebrow back at him and put my hands on my hips.

"Never," I say, "What about you?"

"Touché."

I give him an exasperated sigh.

"Well then, how do you expect to get fed? Rachel certainly did not consider that when she decided to give us her house for a few weeks," I say, an edge to my voice.

James shrugs, opening up one of the wooden drawers and looking inside before shutting it.

"I suppose we will have to eat simply and learn, won't we?"

"And starve . . . " I murmur under my breathe, but James does not hear me.

We move around each other working at our own separate task. As I tend to the tea James manages to cook two eggs and finds some freshly baked scones in a breadbox on the counter. There certainly is not enough to keep us for more than a few days though, and I know that eventually I will have to try my hand at baking. There is no butter for the scones, and the eggs are slightly overcooked so that when we sit down at the table in the adjacent room I am feeling quite cross with the entire situation. James, however, does not seem to mind in the slightest.

We sit in silence, and I wrestle with myself, wondering if I should ask him about the previous night and his further reasoning for sleeping the way we did, but I cannot bring myself to ruin the peace that rests on tenterhooks between us. Before I can say anything however, James speaks first.

"Is it true that you have never been in a kitchen?" he asks, and at first I think him to be teasing me, but then I realise he is serious.

I nod. "It is true. I have been in one, but I have never done any cooking. I haven't had any real need."

"Nor I," he says, and for a moment he seems lost in a faraway thought before saying, "though I did do some cooking on my own while I was stationed in the East Indies as a commander."

I look at him closely, surprised, as it is the first time I have heard him speak about his life before Port Royal. He has that faraway look in his eyes again, and it seems to take my voice to bring him back to the present.

"I had no idea you were in once stationed in the East Indies. How long were you there?"

He shrugs and gulps down half of his tea in one swallow.

"It was easy to lose track of time. I was there perhaps a few months, maybe even a year."

"And then you went back to England?" I ask, prying further than I had intended, though I am genuinely interested.

"Yes," he says, nodding, "I went back for my brother's wedding and not long after I was on a ship with a governor and his young daughter in tow."

"Me," I breathe.

He nods again, his eyes boring directly into mine, and then he looks away, downward at his teacup. There is something painful in the way his shoulders slouch and the light is extinguished from his eyes. I summon the courage to put my hand on his arm, and when I do he looks up, startled.

When his eyes meet mine again I wonder if he is remembering the exact same memories I am, those of a young girl and her only companion aboard that ship, a lonely captain with a knack for playing chess to while away the hours. I smile at him sadly, not yet drawing my hand away and ask, "What happened to us, James? Where did everything go wrong?"

He refuses to meet my eyes and there is an acrid bitterness in his voice as he replies, "Everything went wrong when you became enthralled in William Turner, and I became enthralled in my work."

He hoists himself up from his chair then and strides from the room. I sit motionless, listening to his retreating footsteps and wondering what the ache in my chest at his sudden departure could possibly mean.

**Authoress' Note: **Thanks for keeping up with this! All the faves and reviews are highly appreciated. :) All characters, etc. © Disney.


	38. Some Mad Hope

**SOME MAD HOPE**

Despite the damp heat that has settled in the air I push the spade further into the dirt with the determination to grow something or dig something up in time for Christmas in a week. Somehow we have managed to survive on our own for the past two weeks, though the real miracle lies in the fact that we have managed to be more than civil with one another in that amount of time. I smile to myself at the thought of it, fresh memories surfacing unbidden.

_The warmth of the closeness of Elizabeth's body next to mine . . . Her overwhelming delight at cooking an entire meal on her own . . . Tales of the Indies and Afrika told in front of the fire . . . _In short, scenes from a marriage that was not, and should not, be ours. Still there is something lurking. I have seen it in her eyes as she sits alone at the table finishing a cup of tea, lost in thought. I have seen it in her eyes as she pores through volumes of books in the study but does not read a single word. I have seen it in her eyes as she stands over the fire in the kitchen, gazing into it as though expecting to see someone she knows. But, I do not know what to do about it, and so I say nothing.

"James?" Elizabeth calls to me from around the side of the house.

I stand up, wiping the dirt from my hands and shielding my eyes from the sun striking weakly through the clouds.

"Yes?"

Elizabeth traipses into view, picking her way carefully over the uneven ground, one hand on her rounded belly as though to protect the life inside. She looks up as she nears and finally comes to a stop next to the patch of dirt and vegetation that is the garden.

"Would you like some help?"

I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand and glance at the disarray behind me. Elizabeth's face is eager, and I notice that she is dressed for the outdoors in a pinstriped linen gown with short sleeves.

"Of course," I reply, and hand her an extra spade from the pile of tools to the side. For a moment she stands there looking at me and holding the spade, and just as I am about to inquire after her she speaks.

"I've been thinking about something that you said that has been bothering me greatly," she says without pretense.

"Go on," I say with a nod having no clue what she could be on about.

"When I asked you, in short, why we had stopped being friends all those years ago you said that it was because I became 'enthralled' with William Turner, and you, with your work," she says evenly as though she were analysing some piece of literature, "but I don't see how that could be a reason. You see, though we were of a slight age difference I could have just as easily seen you as often as I pleased. In fact, all things considered, I probably saw you still more often than I did William, but that's not the point though.

She pauses for a moment, thinking, and I wait patiently for her to get to the point of this impromptu speech.

"I _deliberately_ pushed you away from me, James," she says with a hint of sadness in her voice, "I was young then, you see, and for some reason I thought any friendship I had with you would have to rival my friendship with William. Of course, as I grew older I became more concerned with romance, and so I pushed you away further so that I would be guaranteed Will as a husband. Don't you see? This is my fault entirely! I told myself you were stiff and boring and well . . . unmarriageable."

_Stiff, boring, and unmarriageable. _Her words strike a chord within me, and I shake my head. Setting down my spade I stand before her, gripping her shoulders gently.

"You may think you judged me wrongly, but I am guilty as well," I say quietly, "I put you on a pedestal and told _myself_ that you were the centre of my entire world."

Seeing the scandalised look she gives me I amend my words hastily, "And you are _still_ the centre of my entire world, but I have realised something in all of this mess we have been through."

"What is that?"

I smile at her and place a hand on her cheek. She allows the brief touch for a moment before placing her hand over mine and pulling it down to rest between us. She smiles back, waiting.

"I have realised that you are quite imperfect."

Her smile widens then, lighting up her entire face, and it is as though another small parcel of weight has been lifted from both of our shoulders.

"Oh good," she says, taking up her spade again, "I thought you would never notice."

**Authoress' Note:** Just an enjoyable snippet of fluff (with a hint of serious character development). Enjoy as usual. Thanks for reading!


	39. Full of Grace

**FULL OF GRACE**

Through our combined efforts of toiling in the garden for a week Elizabeth and I were finally able to scavenge enough vegetables for a proper Christmas feast. One day prior, Elizabeth spent her time in the kitchen preparing what she could ahead of time while I went into town for the second time during our stay to fetch meat for the main dish.

Tonight we dress for church, and after hitching up the carriage properly, we ride into town. It is a short walk to the church situated on the hill, and it seems that all of Port Royal, both rich and poor, has turned out in its finest for this celebration of the birth of Christ. The way is slow as the crowd picks its way through the dark moving en masse toward the light spilling from the open church doors. Several of my mates from the fort pass us by, slapping me on the shoulder as they go. I stay by Elizabeth's side, however, my hand constantly at her elbow ready to help her should she stumble. Where once she would have scorned me now she leans on my outstretched arm as we make our way toward the church.

Once inside, we stand in the doorway for a moment searching for people we know, most especially the Governor. Elizabeth spots him first, his grey wig visible in the third pew, and without a word she strides down the aisle, her eyes boring into the back of his head. Even now heads turn as she passes and whispers pass into waiting ears. Elizabeth ignores them, however, and so do I. I have eyes only for her as her father stands to greet her. He hugs her close, kisses her cheek and whispers something in her ear that causes her to smile. Then her father's eyes fall on me.

"James, my boy!" he cries, shaking my hand violently.

"Sir," I respond, genuinely glad to see him after so many months, "How are you?"

"Fine, fine," he says, and then he gestures at Elizabeth who is already sitting further down the pew. "I do not need to ask how _you_ are. It is enough for me to see my daughter looking so lovely," he turns back to her and takes her hand, "You look very much like your mother did when she was carrying you," he says quietly, and her smile widens as she places a kiss on his hand.

Suddenly, Reverend Collins stands up in the front, and somewhere in the back of the church an organ begins to play. I hasten to Elizabeth's side, and the rest of the congregation stands in unison to begin the service. I concentrate on the Book of Common Worship in my hands despite the loud whispers of a woman behind me. I am not sure exactly what she is saying, but I know it is not something godly.

It is not until the readings when my attention is fully pulled away from the woman behind me. Reverend Collins expounds upon the nativity story, and I am suddenly aware of how rapt Elizabeth's attention is beside me. She leans forward in the pew, her eyes unblinking, as she seems to soak in the words of the Reverend. What they mean to her I do not know. Later, as we kneel on pillows set on the cold floor, hands clasped, eyes closed, and fervent prayers spilling from our lips I sneak a glance at her and am struck by just how ardently she is praying.

I close my eyes and turn my face back up to the altar while my lips form oft-repeated words, and then I stop and ponder the woman beside me with tears on her cheeks. _What makes her cry so? And why such feelings of pain and confusion and sadness that radiate from her? _I long to reach out and comfort her, but I do not know what it is that has upset her so. I recall those few moments since our time at the Gillette's when she thought I was not looking where I would catch her lost in thought and seeing something that I could not see. _Is it William or something else?_ I shake my head, determined to let the matter rest until she is bold enough to tell me.

After the service has let out, and every member of Port Royal has spilled out onto the lawn Elizabeth implores her Father, "You must come eat with us. I have cooked the most wonderful supper, and I would not want you to miss it."

The Governor chuckles and pats his daughter's arm, which is entwined with his own.

"What have you been doing in the kitchen, my dear? Surely James has a capable enough cook?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

I laugh, nodding.

"Yes, Anne is quite capable," I begin, and then I look to Elizabeth still hanging on her father's arm, "But it seems that Elizabeth has forgotten to tell you that we are staying at a friend's house outside of town, to get away."

"Oh, a retreat!" the Governor cries excitedly, "We used to have one in England before you were born Elizabeth. How wonderful! Yes, yes, I shall go with you then. Just for the night mind you. I would not want to overstay my welcome."

Elizabeth protests this notion immediately while I help her up into the carriage. Her father follows, and then waits for a moment for me to enter. When I do not, his head appears out of the carriage door looking up at me on the driver's box. His confusion gives way to amusement as he makes to shut the door.

"Well, you two have done the thing properly then, haven't you?" he asks.

"Sir?"

"You have retreated so far from civilised company that you have to drive the carriage yourself, James!"

Governor Swann subsides into a fit of good-natured laughter and shuts the door swiftly. I crack the reins, and we jolt through the darkness on another long journey out of town. About an hour later we arrive at the darkened house, and it takes a few minutes for us to hurry throughout lighting wall sconces and candles. Elizabeth immediately bustles into the kitchen to reheat the food she prepared hours earlier.

When we sit down to eat the Governor takes the first bite, chews thoughtfully, and exclaims, "That is quite good, Elizabeth. Where ever did you learn to make it?"

Looking pleased with her self, Elizabeth responds simply, "The recipe must be one of Rachel's as I found it in a box in the pantry."

After swallowing down another bite her father continues, this time pointing his fork at me from across the table, "You will have to look out. If Elizabeth does all the cooking I say you won't have need of this Anne of yours."

"Oh, no, we could never do away with Anne!" Elizabeth exclaims, and I raise my eyebrows at her.

"Really?"

For a moment she looks utterly crushed by the thought and exclaims, "No, of course not! She is such a lovely creature and an irreplaceable companion to me."

Unable to stomach her distress I assure her by saying, "There is no need to worry. Letting Anne go would be the last thing in the world I would wish to do. She is much too valuable."

Elizabeth beams and begins eating again. When we have finished and the dishes are stacked in the kitchen to be washed later in the evening we make our way into the sitting room and settle into the chairs. I find a bottle of wine, unopened, in the kitchen and pour some for the Governor and myself, much to his delight. It does not take long for him to nod off after wallowing too long in the drink and silence. I catch Elizabeth's eye, nodding at her father, and her eyes crinkle into a loving smile.

Swallowing the remainder of my drink I clear my throat and say, "Elizabeth, I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" she asks, suddenly alarmed. "I did not know we normally gave gifts to one another on Christmas."

"We don't," I say, and she sits back in her chair a little less stiffly, "but I have been thinking lately that since you have been so interested in my visit to the Indies that we could go there someday, perhaps when the baby is a little older."

Elizabeth is silent for a moment, but I cannot read her face as she rests her hands across her stomach, splaying them across the evident bulge there. She finally looks up, confliction in her eyes, but nods.

"Thank you, James," she says quietly, so as not to wake her father, "I would love to go someday, as you said, when everything becomes settled."

She fingers the ring on her left hand briefly before letting her hands fall into her lap. She stands up slowly, steadying herself on the arm of the chair and goes to her father, still asleep in front of the hearth. Leaning down, she kisses him gently on the forehead, her hand lingering on his cheek. He stirs slightly, and then shakes himself awake.

"Oh, how long have I been asleep?" he asks, grasping Elizabeth's hand.

She smooths his brow as a mother would a child and whispers, "Not very long, Father. Perhaps it is time that James took you home?"

The governor twists in his chair to look at me and nods while stifling a yawn with his hand.

"Yes, you are right, Elizabeth," he says, and then leans forward to kiss her on the cheek. Standing up, he glances from me to his daughter, and a gentle smile splits his face, "You two have done well," he says, "Much better than I expected I admit. I am proud of you both."

Elizabeth lowers her head modestly, her cheeks reddening slightly under his praise, so I speak for both of us.

"Thank you, sir."

The way has certainly not been uncomplicated, nor will it ever be, but it is comforting to know that someone thinks we have not failed; that someone still has faith in us even when I often do not have faith myself.

**Authoress' Note: **Thanks to everyone who has continued to review so diligently! You keep me going. :)


	40. What Life Gives Us

**WHAT LIFE GIVES US**

James shifts in his sleep next to me as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant them firmly on the floor before rounding my shoulders and rubbing at my lower back whose ache seems to increase by the day. Hoisting myself up, which seems to be a feat in itself, I wrap up in my dressing gown and pad down the stairs and out the back double doors to the garden.

The sea air has not wafted very far inland, but I breathe deeply of the fresh scent of the trees and overturned earth. Skirting the garden, I eye it thoroughly noting which herbs and vegetables have begun to sprout so that I can point them out to Rachel upon her return. What a surprise she will have to find her once empty garden thriving with life in her absence!

From the garden the ground slopes downward a ways since the house is set atop a hill whose crest tapers off and drops to further grasslands below that lead all the way to the jungle tree line. It is this path that I take along the side of the raised hillock that curves out of sight of the house. I tread carefully, ever mindful of the life I carry, while allowing my mind to wander and be free from the worries of the past days and weeks and months.

It occurs to me briefly that I have not heard from William in some time, and I wonder if Anne will have a letter waiting for me when I return. One part of me, a large part of me still, longs for this letter, while another part of me, a part that seems to grow along with the babe within me wants nothing to do with that letter and bids me to accept James who has somehow wormed his way into my heart with his tender love and compassion.

Lost in my thoughts, something darting across the grass startles me, and I cry out as I lose my footing. A sickening _crack_ splits the otherwise peaceful air, and I collapse onto the grass as my right ankle gives out underneath me. I catch myself on my hands as I fall backward and am able to lower myself to the ground without further damage. Drawing my leg toward me I cradle it gently, afraid to look down and see just what hurt has been done.

An acute pain shooting through the ankle and halfway up my calf eventually forces me to glance downward, and I suck in a steadying breath at the sight. In the brief moment that I see it I can tell it is not broken despite the ugly yellow and purple bruises already blooming across the rapidly swelling area. I let go of my foot and lean back on my hands, my eyes raised up toward the sky. The sun is already beginning its ascent, but it is nowhere near being overhead just yet.

Slightly discouraged, but determined to get back to the house, I push myself up and try to hobble across the grass on one foot. Immediately I plummet back down and sit sprawled on the earth, completely out of breath. It is growing rapidly warmer and already I am sweating. Perspiration slides down my nose and drips off onto my dressing gown. I swipe my hand across my forehead and fan myself to no avail. I am stuck, and God knows when James will wake and wonder where I have gone.

As if somehow aware that I was thinking of him James' voice carries out over the wind, "Elizabeth!"

I cannot see him from where I am sitting, and his voice seems terribly far away, but I call back anyway.

"James, I am here!"

There is a brief beat of silence, and then James calls again, louder this time, "Elizabeth, where are you?"

"I am over here!" I call, "You've got to follow the sound of my voice. I've been hurt, and I cannot walk. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you," he calls back, and it seems as though he could be standing right above me he is so close.

"I'm here, James!"

There is a light_ thump_ in response as James leaps down over the side of the crest and comes into view. He is still in his nightclothes with his hair mussed and flying in several directions at once. The wild fear in his eyes is immediately replaced by concern as he kneels by my side.

"Elizabeth, what's happened? Are you all right?"

I cannot help laughing at the absurdity of his question, and my laughing seems to concern him further.

"James, I would not be sitting on the ground if I were all right, would I?" I ask.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes glancing over me, and then he nods.

"You are right," he concedes, "What happened then?"

I grimace as I draw my leg up for him to look at my foot. He winces as his eyes take in the swollen and bruised mass that it has become in so short a time.

"It seems I have sprained it or twisted my ankle somehow."

"And the baby?" he asks innocently, as though it were an after thought.

"Yes, the baby is fine," I reply reluctantly aware that I still have not discussed the matter of the Gillette's adoption plans for this child.

James, however, lifts me up effortlessly, my arms fastened securely about his neck, and talks all the while as we make our way back to the house.

"We'll just go back to the house, pack, and take the carriage home. I will have Anne see what she can do while we wait for the doctor."

He does not sound angry, but there is something about his voice, the tenseness perhaps, that makes me think he is not happy with how our stay turned out. As James carries me back to the house I say, "I am sorry, James, that it ended this way."

"What ended like this?" he asks, and I am not sure if he is pretending not to understand or if he really does not.

"Our stay here," I clarify, and he looks down at me nestled in his arms, confused, "I mean, we have had such a wonderful time out here with just you and me, and it seems like such a terrible way to end it."

He shakes his head and responds, "It wasn't your fault. You could not have known that would happen. We can never know what life will throw at us until it happens. I think we should both know that by now."

Despite his light-hearted tone, there is seriousness in his voice that makes me realise just how much he is in the right. I do not pursue our discussion further but instead say simply, "Let us go home then."

James looks down at me again, startled at my use of the word 'home', but I can tell he is pleased by the way his arms tighten around me as though conveying that he will be glad to be home once again no matter under what circumstances.

Barely a quarter of an hour later we are packed, and after a jostling drive back into town we finally come to a rolling stop in front of the mansion I have grown to call home. Anne bursts out of the front doors, her brows knit in worry.

"I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow, Sir. Is everything all right?" she asks, wringing her hands as James jumps from the carriage box and unlatches the door for me.

He speaks to her quickly over his shoulder as he helps me down from the carriage making sure that I do not put any weight on my injured ankle.

"Elizabeth has hurt her ankle, so I will need you to send for the doctor. Perhaps Thomas could ride into town with the message while you make up a compress?"

Anne's eyes widen at the sight of my battered foot peeking out from underneath my dressing gown, and she moves toward my other side to support me under my arms. Before she can do so, however, James bats her away and hisses, "The doctor, Anne."

She nods, biting her lip, and then hurries off into the house while we follow slowly but surely behind her. It is impossible to get up an entire flight of stairs, so James leads me into the sitting room where he lowers me gently onto a settee. I rest my head against its backing and catch my breath with my eyes closed. I can feel James' hand linger on my head, and for a moment his breath is against my forehead though he presses no kiss there and eventually pulls away. When I open my eyes he is gone, and I am left to wonder at his actions.

**Authoress' Note: **I hope you don't all think I'm just machine-gunning these chapters out. I mean, I am, but they've been written for some time, so it's just a matter of revision. Thanks so much for your kind and helpful reviews as always!


	41. Where the Heart Is

**WHERE THE HEART IS**

Dr. Bertram arrives a quarter of an hour later to reassure me that the ankle is not broken and to inquire about the baby. He binds my ankle tightly in cloth bandages and nods approvingly when Anne finally appears with a compress.

"There is not much you can do for it except let it heal," he says, packing up his bag, "Keep it elevated, and when the swelling goes down I would suggest brief walks to strengthen it. Until then, rest is what you need."

Throughout the next few days the sitting room becomes my permanent abode. I spend most of my time reading and perhaps embroidering when my patience is up to it. Anne, when she is not busy, is great company to have nearby. It does not take long for Rachel to visit either, and we sit discussing our stays away from home for hours on end, though we keep our conversations away from the baby and its potential adoption, and I think she understands that I still have not spoken with James about the matter.

Because I cannot walk up the stairs I sleep upon the settee in the sitting room, and James has insisted on sleeping in an adjacent chair despite my protests that it is a terrible thing to do for his back. I am grateful for his company though and turn a blind eye when he awakens in the morning rubbing at his back and neck and then watching him walk around stiffly for the next few hours. Anne has taken to bringing us our meals there as well, though it is a short walk to the dining room.

The only time I am alone is during the early morning hours after we have eaten breakfast and James and Anne have gone off in opposite directions to see to their respective duties. It is during this time when James is at the fort that a letter arrives bearing William's writing across the front. Heart racing, I tear the parchment open and scan the page fearing that at any moment Anne will walk in on me.

_Elizabeth,_

_I must be brief again, and I apologise for it. My work has been keeping me busy these past few months and helps me keep my mind off of you and the baby. I hope you are keeping well and that life with the Commodore is bearable. I have earned enough money for your passage here and have found suitable lodgings for us. You may be able to come sooner than I thought. Look for another letter from me soon._

_Will_

I fold the parchment again and cradle it in my hand utterly lost in the mess I have created. What would I do if Will suddenly came to take me away? Would I go with him? Would I _want_ to go with him? My head tells me that I should as it would be the right thing to do, but my heart reminds me of my growing affection for James that is only compounded by the debt of gratitude that I owe him.

The sound of the front door opening startles me from my thoughts, and I quickly tuck the folded letter into my bodice. James appears in the doorway, his eyes twinkling as they land on me. I smile back, and then look down to adjust my shawl about me.

"How are you today, my wife?" he asks, one hand resting on my shoulder. It is the first time he has called me thus, and I am startled into looking up at him again.

"I am well, James," I respond hesitantly, curious as to what sort of plan he could be concocting behind those dark and thoughtful eyes.

He offers his hand to me, and as I take it he asks, "Are you well enough to go on a walk? It has been nearly a week, and the swelling has gone down enough. Doctor's orders."

"I would like that," I say and allow myself to be pulled up by James who puts one arm around my waist and grips one of my hands in his own.

It takes a moment for me to adjust my weight onto my still tender ankle before we are able to make the trek down the corridor and out of the back doors into the garden.

"James, let's go up on the hill over there," I say, pointing with my free hand to a stretch of grass to the side of the house that overlooks the sea.

The view from this side of the house is breathtaking. From our place a few feet from the edge of the craggy cliff I can see down and clear across the white sands of the beach toward the cerulean waters stretching out to the horizon. A single ship is anchored there and is the only object marring the otherwise unspoiled landscape spread before us. I close my eyes, breathing deeply of the salty air that the wind picks up from waves thundering and crashing against the rocks below.

Suddenly, I can feel a light fluttering just underneath my fingertips resting against the fabric of my gown. Eyes wide open I press my hand flat against my stomach searching for the movement again. I am rewarded a second later by another fluttering of a frail drumbeat of life. James stands still next to me, unspeaking, and completely unaware of the plans I have made for the life beneath my hands. William's letter still sits pressed between my skin and my gown slightly below my own heart. It feels warm to me as though it were burning a hole through the fabric.

"James?" I ask quietly, my voice barely audible over the roaring of the sea and my eyes still fixed on the horizon. James shifts next to me, and his hand tightens protectively about my waist. 

"Hmm?"

"James, I have something to ask you," I continue, and now I know he is looking at me. He is so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my ear. "And you must promise not to become cross or upset in some way until I am finished speaking."

"Elizabeth, I don't see how I can possibly promise such a thing if I do not know what you are going to say!"

I turn toward him and slip a hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He seems to hesitate, and then nods.

"All right, go on then."

I take a deep breath, let it out, and then begin without any pretense. "James, I am not going to keep this baby."

James' hand stiffens in mine, and I let that sink in for a moment before continuing.

"I am not entirely sure of my motivation. Mainly, I suppose I want to help Rachel and Andrew fill a void in their life that has been a source of much pain for them, and to do so would entail giving them this child to raise as their own. They are a deserving couple, certainly much more deserving than myself, and I do not want to have to lie to this child every day about its father. At least with Rachel and Andrew it will not matter."

I subside into silence, and still James does not speak. His hand, however, does slip from mine and hang limply by his side.

"How long have you been planning this?" he asks, his voice hollow.

"I asked Rachel perhaps a month or so ago. She was extremely grateful, James."

"You- you're just afraid," James says accusingly, "That's what it is, isn't it? You're afraid of having to face the truth of what you did every single day."

"I am not afraid!" I cry, eyes narrowed and voice rising, "I just want this child to have a normal life. In case you haven't noticed, James, we do not have a _normal_ life. We're the two most dysfunctional people that could have possibly ever been yoked together. Months ago you wanted this marriage to work more than anything in the world, and right now I am telling you how it will work; how we can end this damned façade that we have been living!"

I finish in a rush of breath with my hands balled into fists by my sides to keep them from trembling. James stares at me as the wind whips strands of his brown hair in front of his face.

"Say something!" I hiss.

"I'm thinking! I- you want to make this marriage work?"

I make an exasperated noise. "Is that all you heard?"

"Just answer my question," James says calmly.

I pause, calming myself, and then nod my head. "Yes, I want to make this marriage work."

In the space of a second James moves toward me, and suddenly I realise just how close our faces are to each other. Our eyes meet, and I am vaguely aware that James' hand has moved to cup my cheek before he moves closer. I can nearly count his eyelashes before I turn my head slightly, and his lips meet my cheek. He pulls away immediately, as though he has done something wrong and runs his hands through his hair, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, letting my hands drop to my sides, "I-I'm just not ready for that . . ."

I let myself trail off into silence, and James shakes his head.

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have taken advantage of the moment."

"You didn't take advantage," I protest, putting my hand on his arm to keep him from walking away, "It was a natural reaction. I should have expected it, but I didn't. You simply caught me off guard."

He fixes me with a skeptical look, and I give him a gentle smile in response. He sighs and takes my hand, drawing me toward him with the intention of leading me further on our walk.

"Elizabeth, do you love that baby?" James asks after a moment or two, the awkward moment between us already forgotten.

"I suppose I do," I say hesitantly but somehow self-assured.

"And you really want to give it to Andrew and Rachel?" he continues as we make our way back around the side of the house.

"Yes," I reply, "but only because I would not be able to bear to watch this child grow up with the shadow of a lie over its head. I am beginning to understand that sometimes a mother's love means letting her child go for its own sake with the knowledge that a better life awaits. My child will live in a happy home with loving parents who also love each other, and you and I – well, we will be able to start over with a blank slate."

**Authoress' Note: **As always, thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them as usual.


	42. Revelations

**REVELATIONS**

"I'll simply let it out to accommodate and take it back in once the baby is born," Anne says gently.

Elizabeth's nose wrinkles in annoyance as Anne tugs carefully at the fabric of her gown and pins it in a few places.

"I really wish you didn't have to," Elizabeth says exasperated, "It is most inconvenient."

"No one ever said having a baby would be easy," Anne says dryly, "but you've got less than three months now anyway to worry about it."

Elizabeth concedes with a shrug, and Anne assists her in unlacing the back of the gown, letting it drop to the floor. She steps out of it and smooths down the front of her chemise. Not wanting to be caught watching I knock on the doorway and push it ajar, stepping aside to let Anne pass with several gowns draped over her arm.

"How did the fitting go?" I ask.

Elizabeth looks at my reflection in the mirror beside her and puts her hands on her hips.

"Well enough I suppose," Elizabeth says with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "considering poor Anne was trying to dress a whale."

I place my hands on her shoulders, give them a light squeeze, and shake my head.

"No, no, you are anything but," I insist seriously.

"Really? Because looking in the mirror right now-"

"I see the same beautiful woman I married seven months ago."

She is struck silent for a moment, and then asks quietly, almost timidly, "Has it really been so long?"

When I nod she turns toward me and the space between us is instantly used up.

"So much has changed since then, hasn't it?"

"I suppose so," I respond, pushing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

"But it has, everything has," she insists becoming slightly agitated, "This baby has changed everything."

An uneasy silence falls between us. We still have not discussed the issue of adoption with the Gillettes since that day on the hill nor have we brought up the change that has clearly occurred in our relationship. I clear my throat.

"We need to talk to Rachel and Andrew soon" I say, still having trouble wrapping my head around her decision.

She nods, picks up her dressing gown from a chair, and draws it around her shoulders as if there were a sudden chill in the room.

"I- I want to know how you feel about it," she says slowly, "You didn't give me a very good answer when I told you the first time. I want to know how you truly feel about givng this baby up."

Frowning in thought, I choose my words carefully before responding with all the tenderness I can muster.

"All I know is that I love you, Elizabeth. The fact that that child is half yours is enough to make me love it as though it were my own and not care about its other half, but I understand that you have not so readily loved me, and I cannot blame you for wanting to give this child a better life than what we have to offer."

Elizabeth nods slowly. "Thank you for being honest, James," she says, and she allows me to wrap my arms around her, "but thank you for not trying to stop me either."

"I would not dream of it, wife," I murmur into her hair.

Elizabeth lets out a deep breath and relaxes against me.

"Well then, we shouldn't delay any longer in calling on Rachel and Andrew."

The mood in the Gillette household is one of serious contemplation, and I feel as soon as we walk in that Rachel has certainly spoken to Andrew about Elizabeth's proposal. The couple is sober in their demeanour, which serves as a complete contrast to their usually outgoing selves. When we arrive Rachel immediately takes Elizabeth by the arm, and they wander out into the garden without a word while I am left to broach this difficult topic with Andrew. We traipse into the kitchen, and Andrew pours me a brandy from up in the cupboard.

"I'm assuming Rachel told you about Elizabeth's suggestion," I ask after downing the entire glass in one go.

Andrew nods as he gazes out of the window toward the figures of his wife and mine milling about by the grove of trees farthest from the house.

"Rachel is going to tell her that we will take the baby," he says quietly moving his gaze from the window to his untouched glass, "We are extremely grateful, James. Rachel's . . . situation has caused her much grief and pain, and I long to see her happy again. Any child will be welcome in this family."

My throat tightens slightly hearing him speak so candidly, and something akin to greed twists itself in my gut. For a second I have the burning desire to march out into the garden and tell Elizabeth that we are going to keep this baby and make our marriage work at the same time, but I push down that disgustingly selfish thought and bring my attention back to Andrew.

"I don't know if Elizabeth has talked about the logistics of this . . . I suppose we will send word to you and Rachel when it's time. If everything is well I think Elizabeth would prefer you take the baby as soon as possible – it will only be harder for her otherwise."

"Right," Andrew says, and then trails off into silence. "James, we really appreciate this . . ."

Andrew stops, his voice heavy with emotion, and he turns away to look out of the window again. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't think there is anything else to be said," I say, but Andrew shakes his head.

"After the baby is born I'm going to ask for a reassignment," he says slowly, turning back toward me.

"A reassignment? What for?" I ask, bewildered.

Andrew shakes his head again and finally sets down his brandy glass. "We wouldn't be able to stay here, James. It would be too difficult trying to raise a child that is not ours with one of its parents living so close. There would be awkward questions; people would talk. I cannot ask Rachel to face that, and it would only be a discredit to Elizabeth."

I swallow hard, and this time I have to fight to hold down the tears that press at the backs of my eyes. Andrew has been my constant companion since come to Port Royal, and I can hardly imagine my day-to-day life at the fort without him.

"I'm sorry-"

Suddenly we've got our arms around each other and through the window I can see the blurred figures of Elizabeth and Rachel in a similar stance. Anne's words from earlier echo in my mind: _no one said having a baby would be easy_.

**Authoress' Note: **How does one make two male friends exhibit emotion? It has always eluded me. I decided to go a little understated. Thanks for the reviews as always!


	43. At the Edge of the Abyss

**AT THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS**

"Good-bye ladies," I say with a nod at the women clustered around Elizabeth who looks very much like a mother hen overseeing her brood.

They are much too busy tittering and gossiping with each other to respond, however, Elizabeth calls out to Andrew as I open the front door.

"Do make sure you catch _some_ fish, will you gentlemen?"

"Do not worry, Elizabeth, James is quite a decent shot at fishing even when nothing is biting," he calls back.

The small group of men, my closest friends, walk out of the house and follow me down the side till we reach a sandy, slippery, rock-strewn path leading down to the sea. A few minutes later, after we have set up our rods and are standing languidly about with our lines cast out in the tugging sea Robert, one of my best mates and newly married himself, heaves a great and contented sigh and says, "You have set a great precedent here, James."

There is a murmur of agreement all around.

"And what sort of precedent have I set?" I ask with my eyebrows raised.

Robert throws a look over to David who takes the explanation upon him self.

"Well, if I understand rightly, it seems this outing here seems like it would be a vastly smart tradition to carry on in the future when our own missus' are in their time and in need of some female company."

"Aye," Robert pipes up, "When my wife was with our first child I would have been mighty glad to get away for a day. By that point, if she wasn't nagging me about something then she wasn't happy!"

The group bursts out in good-natured laughter. I motion toward Andrew who is standing beside me.

"Well, you should thank Andrew here as his wife came up with the idea."

There is a chorus of "thank you" and "hear, hear", and then David says, "An even better idea would be to move this little party to the pub if we find ourselves unlucky with the fish!"

An even louder chorus of "aye" erupts, even from myself, and in a matter of minutes we have packed up and are headed on a trek into town. It seems Elizabeth will not get her fish after all.

-Elizabeth's POV-

"How much longer have you got to wait then?" Rebekah asks, her eyes aglow with excitement.

I look around the tightly knit circle of women around me and wonder if she is the most excited of them all. It is the first time I have ever encountered her, and already I am in love with her. She is the same age as I and as innocent as any young woman I have ever met. The genuine warmth that exudes from her envelops me, and after I take a sip of tea I respond.

"If everything goes according to how it should I have got a little over two months to go."

Rebekah breathes a sigh of disappointment and puts a hand on my arm while the other women talk amongst themselves. Rachel catches my eye from across the room and gives me a knowing nod.

"You must be terribly eager to see your baby," Rebekah continues, her brows knit together in anguish at the thought of having to wait so much longer.

My gaze fleetingly lands on Rachel again, but I say nothing about our plans for her eventual adoption of this baby. These people will find out in time, and I want the next few months to be fraught with as little attention on James and I as possible.

"Yes, I suppose I am," I respond vaguely.

"Oh, I positively cannot wait to have a baby," Rebekah enthuses, and a few of the women in the room who have children of their own give each other knowing looks but smile on her appreciatively. Suddenly, a cold voice cuts through the friendly atmosphere just to my left, and I turn to look at a vulture-like woman, the oldest in the group perhaps, staring derisively down her nose at Rebekah while talking out of the side of her mouth to her purse-lipped friend.

"Of course, she will have to be married first," she whispers callously, "What a shame our hostess could not be a better role model with a bastard child on the way and the father no where to be found." She _tsks_ under her breath, and I will myself not to listen to them, to turn away and join the conversation to my right. But somehow I cannot. Even as my heart seems to sink in my ribcage I continue to strain to hear their conversation.

Her friend mutters something I cannot hear, but she pulls back and hisses, "I was just saying what everyone else is thinking. What's the harm in that? It is not his child, and everyone knows it. Why pretend?"

Another woman joins their conversation, and I turn away then, my cheeks flushed with shame. Rebekah puts a hand on my arm again with concern etched onto every line of her face.

"Are you all right, Elizabeth? You look awfully warm." 

I swallow hard. "No, I am quite all right, dear."

At that moment Anne bustles into the room carrying a hot plate of scones, and everyone's attention is caught by the cinnamon smell wafting through the air giving me time to wipe my eyes and compose myself for the rest of the afternoon despite the sharp pain of the insults still lodged in my chest.

"You have been awfully quiet this evening, Elizabeth," James says, his back turned toward me as he readies for bed. "Did this afternoon play out to your liking?"

I sit up straighter in bed, my back aching all the worse for it, and pretend to have not heard as my eyes drift across the page of my book. Perhaps James can tell I am not reading as he repeats louder still, "Elizabeth?"

I snap the book shut and run my hand over the aged leather cover, sighing to myself. James turns toward me, slips his nightshirt over his head, and crawls into bed beside me. He watches me as he hunkers down under the covers, and when I do not join him he sits up again, waiting. I take a deep breath and remind myself that this man is my husband and that I may speak to him about anything.

"This afternoon went well enough to begin with," I say slowly, "but there was a moment after talk had turned to the baby when the group broke up into smaller conversations. I did not mean to hear- That is to say, I do not usually eavesdrop, but I could not help overhearing a particular conversation about- about me."

The memory of it, still fresh in my mind, immediately causes my cheeks to flush with shame and anger. I take a deep breath to steady myself and continue the story.

"She insulted William and yourself, though it would not have been half so bad had she not called the child a- a bastard," my voice breaks slightly, but I continue on, "I am only glad Rachel did not hear. I was hoping people would have accepted the situation by now, as we have," I finish quietly, allowing my James to draw me into his arms.

He nods, his chin bumping gently against the top of my head.

"There will always be people, even years from now, who will have nothing better to do with their time than to harp on what they consider to be the misfortunes of others. There is nothing we can do about them except continue to be honest and open about our situation with each other and those we hold dear. It will not be so hard for Rachel and Andrew. They will go back to England most likely away from any ridicule and gossip that may linger."

"And you and I? How will we fare?" I ask, looking down at our entwined hands resting between us.

A deep silence descends on us, and I am vaguely aware that James is gently running his thumb over my knuckles.

"Who can guess what the future will hold," James says into the silence and the deepening darkness seeping through the windows, "but we will have each other, and I think that will be enough." He places a soft kiss on the top of my head and lingers there for a moment before pulling away. "It will take time, but I think we have both shown that we are willing to wait on each other."

I look up at him and our lips are merely inches from each other.

"You are not afraid then?" I whisper, searching his eyes that do not ever seem to leave mine.

He laughs deeply and the reverberating notes sound like the pealing of church bells.

"I am terrified, Elizabeth," he says, and I smile, "But I think we have weathered the worst of the storm already. There are surely blue skies on the horizon. I can feel it."

He then presses a kiss against my cheek, his hand lingering just underneath my chin. When we pull away, his eyes search mine for the hesitancy that was once evident there, but it has passed away. I trace the line of his jaw with one hand, and when I take my hand away he catches it in his own and draws me toward him. We slide under the covers, and as James draws them up around us I settle against him, feeling the warmth of his chest again my back. Each breath he takes becomes my own, and for the first time in our marriage I feel genuinely content to be in his embrace.

Putting one of his arms securely around me, James breathes next to me, "I love you, wife."

I pause for a moment unsure of how to respond. I care for him greatly, of that I am sure, but love him? Will's face flashes briefly through my mind's eye, and I find myself standing at the precipice of a deep abyss. On one side of me is the solid grounding of Will's love, while on the other is the leap of faith I must take in order to love James completely. I flounder for a moment, lost in my thoughts, and unable to discern which path I should take, but then I whisper, "I know, husband". In the dark I can feel James smile against my hair, and that is enough for me to finally make up my mind.

**Authoress' Note: **I know I'm posting these all at once, but I thought it would be nice to have a friendly note waving at you from the bottom of each chapter as usual. (And my reasoning for posting these all at once is a) I finished editing them and b) I go back to uni soon, and I doubt any of you want to wait another 6 months to read the ending of this story.


	44. Forgotten

**FORGOTTEN**

We wake up the next morning pressed together like we have not slept since we stayed at Rachel and Andrew's home. I turn over carefully, and James moves back to make room for the great swell of my pregnant belly between us. He smiles at me by way of good morning, but all I can do is yawn tiredly.

"You did not sleep well."

It is not a question, and so I am able to avoid answering like I had hoped. James' eyes cloud with concern, and for the first time I wish I did not have such an attentive husband.

"You can tell?" I tease, and his concern eases somewhat. I put my hand to a spot just under my ribcage, rubbing it tenderly. "She likes to kick right there, and it is awfully inconvenient when one is trying to sleep. I have no idea why she was so active last night."

"She was moving? You could feel it?" he asks, suddenly excited.

"I can feel _everything_ she does, James, every kick, turn, or what not. Hence the sleepless night."

His face looks absurdly crestfallen, and I cannot imagine why until he says, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Why? So you could feel it?"

When he nods seriously, I cannot help laughing to myself. He looks slightly affronted for a moment while I catch my breath and clutch at a stitch in my side.

"James," I say soothingly, looking him straight in the eye, "I assure you that you did not miss out on a single thing, and I promise you that if I feel anything else I shall alert you at once. I can't understand why you should be so excited."

"I may as well be excited," he says, "I do not intend to take for granted the few more months I have to experience this" he finishes quietly, and then cranes his neck to place a kiss on my forehead.

I close my eyes at his touch, pondering the yearning tone of James' voice, and open them again when I feel his weight leave the bed. I watch him pull on a new pair of trousers and tuck his shirt in. Sitting up, I catch his eye in the mirror, and he turns to me before leaving the room.

"I'm expecting some business related mail, so I will check with Anne to see if anything has arrived. You can make it down to breakfast on your own?"

I can sense a slight mockery in his tone as he leaves the room, and I am sure to call loudly enough after him so that he can hear, "I will have you know I am not so incapacitated yet, sir! Just you wait!"

When I join James for breakfast a few minutes later he is already deep into reading a thick scroll of parchment. To my surprise, there is a folded square of parchment on my empty plate. I stare at it, and then shift my eyes over to James, wondering if he put it there or if he has noticed it at all. He looks up over the top of his paper as though sensing my eyes on him.

"You've got a letter of some sort. I didn't open it as I thought it might be from your father."

"Oh, yes," I respond hollowly, staring at it a moment longer before picking it up and setting it next to my plate.

James lets his paper drop, folds it up, and puts it beside his plate. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he nods at the letter and asks, "Well, are you going to open it?"

"In a minute," I say a little too quickly, as I snatch it up and hold it against me.

I can tell James' suspicion is aroused, but he simply holds up his hands and says, "Sorry, I was just noting a fact."

"No, it's all right," I respond, my hands trembling slightly around the thin slip of paper between them.

In truth, I do not want to open this letter at all. Unbeknownst to James, I know this letter must be from Will. I should feel elated, or at least excited at the prospect of hearing from him again, and so soon, but instead I feel nothing. If it were not for the fact that I am carrying Will's child, I would not want to open it at all.

Just as I slip my hand under the creased fold in the parchment I feel it again, that wonderful fluttering sensation just below and to the left of my navel. It is much harder this time, enough to cause me to gasp audibly and drop the letter to the floor. James looks up in concern.

Afraid to move for fear that the movement will cease I motion for James.

"She's kicking," I whisper breathlessly, "Quick!"

Hastily, James kneels by my chair, and I take his hand and press it to the proper spot. His eyes widen just as they had the first time he felt it at the fort in Spanish Florida.

"Is that what you feel all the time?" he breathes quietly, marveling at the beat beneath his hand.

I laugh, and the fluttering kicks cease. James draws his hand away in disappointment, and I put a hand to my mouth.

"Sorry," I say, suddenly startled by how close James' face is to mine, "She doesn't seem to like it when I laugh," I finish in a whisper.

James brushes his thumb against my bottom lip, and I shiver at the touch.

"I love it when you laugh," he whispers, and I place my hand over his where it rests against my cheek.

It is the day on the hill all over again, but this time there is no warring within my heart. James pauses for a split second, perhaps remembering that day, and in his hesitancy I act. Placing my free hand at the nape of his neck, I breathe in deeply and close my eyes as our lips brush together. He tastes of salt and lime, an altogether pleasing combination, and when we pull apart, breathless, he has only time to say one word, Elizabeth, before claiming my lips for his own once more.

**Authoress' Note: **Finally, what everyone has been waiting for. :)


	45. An Unexpected Visitor

**AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR**

"All right, gentlemen, half of you are on patrol duty," I say briskly, motioning to one half of the red-coated men before me.

They groan, and I slam one hand down on the desk in front of me to silence them. The crowd instantly stills.

"Enough crying," I bark, "Are you members of His Majesty's Royal Navy or not?"

A chorus of "Aye, sir" fills the room, and the group falls into line and shuffles off to do their duty.

"You lead with an iron fist, Commodore," a voice from the back of the room calls out.

The men left standing in front of me look around at one another in confusion. Some look shocked that someone would dare to speak to a superior officer in such a way. Next to me, Andrew instantly tenses, and I know he too is seeking out the perpetrator. I do not need to look to see whom the voice belongs to, however. Disembodied as it is, there is no mistaking the loathing in William Turner's voice.

"There is no need to hide in the shadows, Mr. Turner," I say calmly, keeping my hands clasped behind my back, "I know your voice."

A sun-browned and sneering William Turner steps into the light, and a visible ripple of turning heads moves from man to man. He seems to be dressed far to warmly for the climate of Jamaica, and I wonder briefly where he could have been hiding. Of course, I will find out later, but for now . . .

"Fletcher, Brent, lock him in the brig."

Will's sneer is immediately wiped off his face and as two of my stoutest soldiers take hold of his arms he struggles against them and cries out, "You can't lock me up, Norrington! I haven't committed any crime!"

He continues to struggle and yell as he is dragged out of the room and down the corridor. I go to the door, and in the sudden roiling anger I feel within me I yell after him, "I can damn well do as I please!" before slamming the door.

I turn back to the remaining men in the room only to find them staring at me apprehensively though none of them would dare to say anything. I nod at Andrew who immediately stands at attention.

"Please take this message to the Governor," I dictate, a headache already beginning to pound in my temple, "William Turner is back, and we've got trouble."

"Bloody hell . . ."

"Elizabeth, really!"

"Sorry," I mumble, frantically pacing the floor of my father's study in an effort to figure out what to do next. "Why on earth does James have him locked up?"

My father shrugs. "He's committed a crime," he suggests, but it sounds weak coming from him.

I shake my head, furious with myself and with James.

"What crime?" I hiss, "This is a private matter and will remain so unless James makes it into something it is not."

"Will he not?"

My father's question is innocent enough, but the implication is deadly. At this moment James is no doubt enraged at Will's return, and I know he will stop at nothing until justice is served. If I could only convince him that we are not in danger then perhaps he will let Will go. But first, I must convince William to let me go . . . I stop my pacing, and Father looks up from where he has been watching the movements at the fort from the window.

"Is the carriage still out front?" I ask, my mind racing with what I must do and what I must say.

"Yes, why?"

I make an exasperated noise in my throat. "Because I've got to go to the fort. That's why."

I exit the room hastily with my father following close behind.

"Elizabeth, I really must protest. You should not be out in your present condition-"

"I would not be in my present condition if not for the man locked up at the fort right now," I snarl over my shoulder, and my father stops at the foot of the stairs. At the front door I look back up at him, my tone softening, "I will be careful, I promise, but I must go. I have to do this."

The ride to the fort is one of the longest of my entire life. I play and replay everything I will say to both Will and James in my head over and over again. For a few minutes I manage to still my mind long enough to close my eyes and just feel the baby moving within me reminding me of the purpose of my visit.

The carriage eventually jolts to a halt, and the footman helps me down. I have a second to get my bearings once more before Andrew appears, sweaty and breathless, from inside the fort's stone walls.

"James is out of control," he says quickly, gesticulating wildly toward the fort, "He's interrogating Turner right now, and I think he intends to bring him to trial. You've got to stop him. It isn't right what he did to James, but this type of justice isn't right either."

"I know," I reply, steeling myself for the conversations ahead, "Take me to him."

**Authoress' Note: **Oh no…


	46. Turning the Last Page

**TURNING THE LAST PAGE**

Pacing the darkened cell I glance at William Turner's limp body slumped against the wall with his arms hanging in chains above his head. As he is in no position to sneer anymore, he keeps his head down, lolling against his chest.

"I will not ask you again, Turner," I say menacingly, "What is your purpose here?"

He stirs slightly, shifting his weight into a more comfortable position, but does not speak or make any other sound.

"I say, what is your purpose here?"

My raised voice echoes in the confined space, and Will Turner shrinks back from it, withdrawing further into himself. Frustrated by his stubbornness, I stride forward and yank him up by the front of his shirt. His legs scrabble beneath him as he searches for the ground to support him self as I shake him, knocking him against the wall.

"Answer me!" I yell, but he merely looks up at me with eyes hooded in defiance. With a growl I pull my free hand back into a fist and prepare to strike him hard across the cheek.

"James, no!"

I whip around at the sound of Elizabeth's panic-stricken voice and slacken my grip. William Turner slides to the floor in heap his wrists straining against the chains that attempt to hold him up.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss moving closer to the closed cell door where Elizabeth stands opposite me with her hands curled around the iron bars.

"I must speak with him alone," she replies, her eyes falling on the crumpled form of the man she once loved.

"That is out of the question," I reply, and just as I am about to turn away she grips my arm through the bars, digging her nails into the thin cloth of my shirt and into my skin. She is impossible to shake off, so I move toward her again.

"I am not asking your permission, James," she says seriously, "I am telling you that I _will_ speak to him. Now open up the door and leave us."

I give her a wary look, and she loosens her hold on my arm, her face softening, "Please, James. You must trust me in this."

"I do trust you," he retorts hastily, and when I raise one eyebrow at him he mutters, "It is him that I do not trust."

"Ten minutes at the most, James," she says, and finally I nod.

I hold open the prison cell for her to enter, and then I exit, closing it behind me with a _click_. I make my way toward the door, and when I look back she smiles at me as though to say that everything will be all right. I strain to return the smile, and after a pause I leave, shutting the heavy wooden door behind me.

-Elizabeth's POV-

I wait patiently for his footsteps to pass away into silence before moving toward Will's wilted form. The light click of my shoes against the ground is the only sound in the room. I bend slightly and lift Will's chin with two fingers so that he will finally look upon me. He does, without reluctance, and sits up straighter to better drink in the sight of me.

"You are lovely, Elizabeth," he breathes, a heavy sigh in the silence, "Motherhood suits you well."

I smooth the front of my gown absentmindedly and dip my head, avoiding his eyes.

"Thank you, William."

When I say nothing more a small frown settles on his lips.

"Why such courteous, polite responses?" he asks, "Have I done or said something to offend?"

"No, nothing at all," I say, pacing the small cell to further avoid his gaze, "I am simply wondering why you are here."

"Why I am- Elizabeth, did you not receive my last letter?" he splutters.

"Yes, I received it, but I did not read it," I admit and flinch as his frown deepens.

Sour faced, he replies crossly, his voice tight, "Then you did not receive the information of my arrival. That would certainly explain the welcome I received."

"James told me you were lurking about at the fort looking for trouble! I do not see how that could have earned you any better a welcome than you deserved," I retort.

He says nothing in return, and I take the moment of silence to compose myself before continuing.

"This is all my fault, Will," I say, softening my voice.

"How so?"

"If I had been able to write to you then perhaps you would be more aware of the present situation, and you would not have come."

"I do not understand," he says blandly, following my movement throughout the room.

I take a deep breath, backing up against the cell bars, and looking directly at Will sitting a mere meter or so away.

"You will probably consider me fickle for saying this, but I can hold it back no longer," I begin slowly, "In fact, I hardly know where to begin. So much has changed for us, Will; so much that neither of us can control. Seven months ago you were in love with a very foolish girl who knew nothing of matters of the heart, and though I cannot claim I know much more I do understand what it is to love so unconditionally that it hurts."

Will opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand.

"Please, let me continue. I do not have much time. You see, that is how James has felt for me all this time, and that is how I once felt for you. I am guilty of pushing you away, Will. I will admit to that, and at times I wonder, if things had been different would we have been happy? I am sure it would have been so."

I smile at him gently, but he does not return it. Instead he stares at me with dark and hardened eyes. I am not deterred, however.

"I know you came here for me and the baby, but as you can see, the baby is not here yet. I have a few weeks yet to go. Even then, I have decided, I will not go with you, Will. I am a married woman now, and I have a duty to my husband. I cannot claim to love him as passionately as he does me, but my affection for him grows each day. He is a compassionate and kind man, and I am certain that if I can convince him that you will leave Port Royal and never return he will let the matter be."

"And I am truly sorry," I say, dropping down beside Will, and cupping his face in my hands, "for all the grief and heartache I have caused you. I am sorry that you will never see your child. I am sorry that this will be our second parting of the ways. I wish I could have foreseen it, if only to save you the anger and disappointment you must feel."

Tears that I have been holding in all this time fall gently now spilling down my cheeks. I can feel the wetness of Will's own tears against my hands, and I wish he were not locked up so that I could properly embrace him. I hold him to me as best I can, our shoulders shaking with sobs, as we lean against one another. We sit like this for several minutes before finally pulling apart. I press a salty kiss against his cheek before standing up and wiping my eyes.

"You are happy then?" Will whispers, his voice still shaking with emotion.

I nod, my eyes watering again.

"Very much so."

"Then your happiness is enough for me," he says, and for the first time he smiles, albeit sadly. "How can I be vengeful when I know you are well?" He shakes his head and for a moment his mind seems to be on something else before he says, "But, I will always love you, you know?"

I smile back at him just as sadly, noticing the pain in his deep eyes for the first time. It is a pain that I will perhaps never know.

"I know, but I hope it will not always be so. There will be another woman I am sure."

He shakes his head again. "No woman will want a sad sailor for their groom for I will only make them an unhappy bride. Nay, you were the only one for me, Elizabeth, and no matter how far I travel, I will never let you go."

"Nor will I," I say quietly, "There will indelibly be some part of my heart that will always belong to you."

Just then a knock sounds on the door, and suddenly the atmosphere between us becomes frantic. I lean down and kiss him on his forehead, and he grasps my hand for a split second, searching my face as though memorising it. Then we are moving apart, and in that moment I realise that I will never see William again. Snippets of memories flash before me . . . _a horse race atop a windy hill, a whispered promise under the eaves of a shop, the rush of heat and wild beating of hearts as we fall into bed . . ._ and then it is over. I look back at him when I reach the door, my hand resting on it and then, just as with a book, I turn the page and end the chapter on William Turner in the story of my life.

**Authoress' Note: **And I think it's safe to say that ship has been sunk all the way down . . .


	47. To Have Loved and Lost

**TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST**

" '_Tis better to have loved and lost/Than never to have loved at all." – In Memoriam A.H.H. by Lord Tennyson_

Slipping through the heavy wooden door I close it tightly behind me and rest my back against it with my hands still on the handle. James is waiting for me looking bedraggled and impatient. He attempts to move past me, but I continue to block the door and look him full in the eye, my bottom lip still trembling with the emotion of moments earlier. He backs down and allows his arms to fall to his sides.

"You will not go back in there, James," I say in a low voice, "Nor will you continue to have William Turner locked up."

"No, indeed. I intend to have him hanged."

"You will not," I hiss, and for a moment something akin to alarm passes over James' face before he schools it into a mask once more. His hand suddenly shoots out and grips my upper arm tightly.

"James!"

"What did he say to you?"

"It does not matter what he said to me," I say, my voice shaking with rage, "It only matters what we have decided together. I told him I was happy here, and that my heart had changed so much in the past months that I would be a different woman to him now, a woman he would not know. He is greatly saddened by this, and the fact that he will never be able to see his child, but he took it well enough."

"Did he?"

James's voice is amazed, and his tight clasp on my arm loosens as he looks at me in wonder. I can hardly see him through the thick glaze of tears in my eyes, and as I blink them away they fall like glistening dewdrops upon the ground. The roughness of his thumb brushes against my cheek, and I catch his hand in my own as he pulls me close. For a moment we stand trapped in one another's embrace, the flutter of a third heartbeat between us.

"He has promised to leave as soon as you let him go, James," I whisper, tears still seeping onto the fine brocade of his coat, "I do not think he will return. Not after what I have done to him."

I expect James to say something. Perhaps to reassure me that it is not I who has done the wrong. But he does not, and the silence where his response should be lies heavy on my heart. Now I understand the consequences that were laid out for me all those months ago, and I find that I truly am the one to blame while William Turner is left to pay the price for my folly. The gentle touch of James' hand on my back brings me out of my thoughts.

"I will let him go then," he says, all trace of vehemence absent from his voice.

I lift my face and press my lips against his hoping to convey the gratitude bubbling up within me. Breaking away, I whisper a breathless, "Thank you," before hurrying up the stairs and into the blissful afternoon sunshine blaring down in all its redemptive glory upon this penitent sinner's head.

-James' POV-

Will Turner is sitting up against the earthen wall staring off into nothingness when I enter the prison cell once more. He hardly takes notice of me as I select a key from a ring and unlock the irons around his wrists, which fall to his sides with a light _thud_. It takes him a moment to realise he is free, and when he does he narrows his eyes at me and asks, "So that's it then?"

I nod and motion toward the open cell door. "Elizabeth told me what you said."

"I knew she would," he says mildly, standing up shakily and rubbing his wrists in his hands.

He does not immediately bolt for the door, and for the first time I can see just how broken a man he has become in so short a time. Where there once stood a strong and handsome blacksmith who was confident of his place in the world, there now stands a man who has seen too much of that world and not enough of the good in it. He is bent slightly, his head ducked down and his shoulders slumped as though he were carrying the weight of the world on them. It is the pain in his eyes that gets to me, however.

"I am truly sorry," I say, the words sounding lame as they fall from my lips and inadequate for the situation at hand.

"Don't be sorry," Will says, shaking his head slowly, "You didn't do anything. I should be the one apologising. Anyway, she loves you, and that is all that matters."

We look at each other, and I can see my dumbfounded expression reflected in his eyes.

"Don't tell her I told you," Will says, "She didn't say it expressly, but I don't think she would take kindly to me bandying that about."

"If she didn't say it, how do you know?"

I try to sound indifferent, but it is impossible. I know Will can sense my eager excitement though he does not show it. Instead he looks thoughtful, in a pained way.

"How do I know?" he repeats, making his way toward the door. I watch him in anticipation, and just as he is about to leave he turns back. "I know, because she loved me once, and I could see it on her face as plain as day."

He nods at me then, meeting my eyes for a split second, long enough for me to nod back. He trudges out of the room then leaving me alone with nothing but an earnest desire to do something, anything, for this man who has lost everything to me.


	48. Nothing Short of the Truth

**NOTHING SHORT OF THE TRUTH**

It is late when I return home exhausted from the events of the day. Rachel slips through the open door, bobbing her head at me, but keeping her eyes down, as she passes. Meanwhile, Anne takes my wig and coat in silence and nods toward the open door to the dining room where Elizabeth is already eating alone at the head of the table. I run a hand through the short bristles of my brown hair, usually kept hidden, and Elizabeth barely glances up as I sit down next to her.

I try not to watch her too much as I serve myself, and she eats, her gaze fixed to her plate. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, a fact that she intends to hide by keeping her head down. The silence between us is unbearable, and I wonder how long it will last. An hour? A day? A week?

"I'm sorry for everything that happened today," I say consolingly, reaching over to grasp her free hand lying stolidly on the table. "It was not right of me to act in the way I did."

Chewing and swallowing slowly, Elizabeth sets her fork down on her plate carefully and resolutely shakes her head.

"No, you had every right," she says, still staring downward.

My brow furrows, and she turns toward me, her eyes gleaming again. She bites her lip as though holding back from saying something, and then leans forward. Her voice is low so that I have to strain to hear it.

"He's been writing to me, James," she says, slowly, her eyes wild and terrified, "He's been writing me this whole while."

"He wrote to you?" I repeat, disbelief in my voice.

She nods, stricken, and bursts into tears. Through her sobs she manages to choke out, "He wrote three times, and I was never able to answer. I should have told you!"

She buries her face in her hands as her shoulders shake with each hiccupping gasp of air she takes.

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth," I say, "Sssh, please. Everything is all right now."

As her cries lessen in intensity I am able to draw her hands away from her face. Holding them in my own she eventually quiets and looks down at the space between us.

"I am sure you will want to know why he wrote," she says quietly, her voice still shaking with emotion.

I draw one of her hands to my lips and kiss it tenderly, shaking my head.

"No, you do not have to tell me. I would not wish to cause you pain."

Her head snaps up, and her eyes are wide, almost shocked.

"I must tell you," she insists, "You are my husband, and you have a right to know."

"Go on then," I encourage her, my stomach clenching with anxiety at what she may reveal to me.

"After you asked for my hand I went to see William, and we concocted a plan that would take us far away from Port Royal. We were daft to think we could run away from our problems so easily, nevertheless, we planned to leave within the month. That is, until I found out I was carrying his child. I knew then that it would not be safe for Will to stay here or for me to travel to some distant land, so I sent Will on ahead to prepare a place for the baby and I. We would be married as soon as we could."

She licks her lips nervously as the story spills out, and I can only listen passively.

"Of course, as you know, none of that came to fruition," she finishes, and for a moment there is the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "Will wrote to me to inform me of his progress in securing a home for us, and his last letter was sent to notify me of his arrival in Port Royal. I did not read it, however, and so his presence today was not made known to me until much too late."

She smiles at me fully then, a sad smile full of love. "Not that it matters now anyway."

"I am glad you have spoken of it, Elizabeth," I say, stroking her thumb, "There should be no secrets between us."

She nods. "It is I who should be reprimanded," she says, "for you have kept no secrets from me."

I am reminded suddenly of the young woman in Tortuga, Beth, whose wisdom gave me the strength to come back to Port Royal and become the man I was supposed to be. I shift uncomfortably, and Elizabeth raises a concerned eyebrow.

"I am not so innocent," I admit carefully, "When I went to Tortuga I became quite drunk and was sorely tempted to sleep with another woman."

"Because you could not sleep with me? James, I am truly sorry. I know it my duty as your wife, but I-"

I hold up a hand to stop her. "Not because of that, but because I was heartbroken and wallowing in my own grief. That does not excuse my behaviour or the desires I held in my heart. You are my wife, and I owed you that much."

Elizabeth looks at me with an amused expression, one corner of her mouth turned up slightly. She frowns suddenly.

"And I owe you so much more," she says forlornly.

I lean forward and catch her lips against mine as she looks up. She does not pull back, but reciprocates enthusiastically until I finally break away.

"You have given me so much already," I say, taking her hand again, "So, perhaps you think you owe me more, but I assure you, just having you is enough for me."


	49. Moonlight Sonata

**MOONLIGHT SONATA**

The next few weeks settle into a pleasant monotony that flows smoothly from one day to the next without pretense or expectations. It is this period of waiting that I finally feel like I am truly a married woman with only two cares in the world: my husband and a child on the way.

It is not as though I do not think of Will. In fact, I am reminded of him at the oddest moments: when I wake in the morning to the feeling of the baby moving in me or when I catch myself watching the ships rolling into the harbour with the expectation that he will be on one of them. I am sure James notices these subtle quirks, but he says nothing, and I am extremely grateful.

Sweet notes played softly on a piano drift in and out of my dreams. I smile against my pillow, and my eyes flutter open expecting to see James still asleep beside me. The other side of the bed is empty, however, and a slight frown creases my lips. I turn to the other side of the room but the rocking chair I so admired when I first arrived here is empty.

The delicate sounds of the piano tug at me gently, and I rise up to investigate. The music seems to be coming from an open door past my room down the corridor. I pull my shawl further over my shoulders and approach the room just as the notes hit their highest crescendo. Peering inside I take in the sight of James sitting at the bench in his night clothes, his hands moving swiftly over the keys of a refined wooden piano. I close my eyes, leaning against the doorframe, letting the gentle sonata wash over me. The last note reverberates deeply throughout the room bringing me from my stupor. I open my eyes only to find James watching me.

"You play beautifully," I say, moving to sit down next to him, "I had no idea you were such an ardent musician."

"I have had no reason to play until now," he replies quietly, letting his hands roam over the keys, "and to be honest, I forgot this piano was here. It has been kept out of sight for far too long."

"You know, I used to think you the most emotionless man I had ever had the misfortune to meet," I say, nudging him in the shoulder.

"Really, do tell," he says, a smirk on his lips.

I lean over and place a sultry kiss on his cheek, moving a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"But now I know I was simply looking for your passion and zeal in the wrong place," I admit, looking into those deep brown eyes that threaten to drown me. When he smiles they light up in understanding.

"And I assure you, after the baby is born, you will not have to look hard anymore."

"James!" I cry, feigning a scandalised look in his direction.

"But only if you are ready," he amends, becoming suddenly serious.

I lay a hand on his arm and he stills his hands at the piano keys, waiting for my answer.

"Give it at least a month or so afterward, and then, yes, I will be ready."

We fall silent again, and James strikes up an airy tune, while I gaze around at the numerous oddly shaped pieces of furniture draped with white cloth to keep the dust off.

There is a lull in the music, and James places a hand on my stomach, fingers splayed.

"Any day now," he says, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Any day," I repeat, and I hope he does not hear the nervousness in my voice.

**Authoress' Note: **Get ready everyone! The big finale is on its way. :) Thanks for sticking with me this long, and thanks for reviewing as always!


	50. Each the Other's World Entire

**EACH THE OTHER'S WORLD ENTIRE**

With a startled gasp I lurch upright and am temporarily blinded by the blackness around me. I swallow hard, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, and suck in the cold night air in an attempt to control my breathing.

"James, are you all right?"

I look up at the sound of Elizabeth's softened voice, and find to my surprise that she is not lying beside me. Suddenly I understand that the periodic tapping heard in my dream is her bare feet pacing across the floor. I watch her for a moment as she glides in and out of a shaft of moonlight spilling in from outside, her white nightgown making her look as pale as a ghost.

"It was just a dream," I finally reply, drawing my eyebrows together as she stops in the shadows, hunched over for a moment, before continuing her pacing. "Why aren't you in bed?"

Elizabeth gives a sharp intake of breath and stops pacing again. When she speaks several seconds later her voice is strained and breathless.

"The baby is coming."

"What? Right now?" I ask, bewildered.

She shakes her head, a movement that is barely visible in the gloom, but is immensely significant.

"Anne told me these things take time," she says, "It could take hours or days before the baby is actually born."

"Ah," I reply, watching her carefully as she grimaces, her hand resting just below the swell of her stomach, "Are you in pain?"

"A bit," she replies, "Though it is not unbearable just yet. I am sure it will become much worse."

"Shall I call Anne then and send for Rachel and Andrew?"

I prepare to throw back the covers, but she holds up a hand, shaking her head.

"No, not yet," she says thickly, and then smiles painfully, "Just go back to bed. I will join you in a minute. Do not worry."

It is impossible for me not to worry even as I lower myself back against the pillows and pull the covers up around me again. I stare straight up at the ceiling for a few minutes until the light padding of Elizabeth's feet against the floor lulls me into sleep again.

I wake up again some time later my eyes aching with fatigue. Again I wonder what could have woken me when I become vaguely aware of a wetness seeping into my trousers. Just as I am about to pull back the bed linens to investigate, Elizabeth turns over, a groan slipping between her parted lips as her brows furrow in her sleep. Setting aside my concern for her for a moment I pull back the coverlet. A thin sliver of moonlight shines onto the bed, which is stained a dark crimson in the poor light. My breath catching in my throat, I pull the linens back further, and my eyes widen at the sight of the blood that has soaked through Elizabeth's nightgown. I reach over and shake her shoulder gently as she cries out softly, her back arching at my touch. Her eyes flutter open bright with the fresh pain I know is coursing through her.

"Elizabeth, you're bleeding," I say quietly, drawing back the covers for her to see. Gingerly, she eases herself into a sitting position. My hand is still on her shoulder and my grip tightens imperceptibly as she shifts positions.

She nods, as though she were expecting this, as though it were normal, and says, "Could you wake Anne? I do not think this baby is going to wait much longer."

She leans back against the headboard, and closes her eyes as she takes in several deep breathes. Her body tenses for a moment, and she bites her lip in an effort not to cry out. Her hands tighten on the bed sheets and her knuckles turn white. When she opens her eyes she implores me, "Please hurry, James."

I press a kiss to her forehead and hurry from the room, my mouth dry, and my heart racing. It is a long journey through the dark to reach the servant's quarters on the opposite side of the house. Raising a trembling hand, I knock loudly on the door.

"Anne?" I call with my ear pressed to the door, listening for the slightest sound of movement, "Anne!"

I raise my hand to knock again but stop myself when I hear the creak of bedsprings and a jumble of noise before Anne opens the door with a candle in one hand.

"It's time?" she inquires matter-of-factly, and when I nod she thrusts the candle into my hands, "Hold that. I need to gather a few necessaries. Wait here."

She disappears from the space between the door's frame and the door, and I hear her rummage around for a few minutes before reappearing again. I hold the door open, and she walks through carrying a pitcher of water and a stack of fresh white linens.

Elizabeth is crying when we arrive back upstairs. I set the candle down and go to her immediately, brushing her hair back from her face, "Shh, it's all right. Anne is here."

She swallows hard and looks up at me through the haze of pain and tears.

"God, James it hurts," she whispers, and I take her hand, kissing it gently.

"I know, I know. It will all be over soon."

Meanwhile, Anne _tsks_ at the sight of the stiffening blood on the sheets, stripping them off the bed in a matter of seconds. As she moves throughout the room lighting candles a soft glow settles around us. Despite this, Elizabeth cries out again, her grip tightening on my hand. At the end of the bed, Anne begins to roll up Elizabeth's nightgown, and she speaks to me without looking up from her work.

"Sorry, sir, but this is women's work," she says, as Elizabeth twists on the bed next to us, "It won't be much longer now, so perhaps you should go find Thomas to keep you company."

It is not a request, so I nod, and feeling shaky, I leave the room as Anne attempts to soothe Elizabeth's whimpering cries. The door shuts behind me, and I am halfway down the corridor when Thomas appears, tucking his shirt into his trousers. The older man gives me a curt nod and sits down in a chair against the wall.

I cannot sit. If I do I fear I shall go mad, and so instead I pace the length of the corridor not caring that I am still in my blood stained trousers and nightshirt with bare feet and mussed hair. I struggle to hear what is going on behind the closed door, but eventually Elizabeth's wild cries fall silent under Anne's comforting murmurs.

The pendulum of the grandfather clock sitting at the end of the corridor swings maddeningly to and fro marking each minute with a scraping tick. The silence does not last for long. Every few minutes, like clockwork, Elizabeth's moans followed by Anne's calm voice seep from underneath the door. An hour later, I feel exhausted and my eyes are burning for relief. I rub at them gently, which only seems to irritate them more, and then look toward Thomas who is still sitting ramrod straight in his chair, yet somehow looking much more relaxed than I feel. He pats the chair next to him in a good-natured manner.

"If you are not careful, sir," he says, "you'll wear a hole right through the floor. Quit your pacing, and come sit with me."

I nod grimly, having no energy to argue, and sit down stiffly. At the same moment Thomas stands and moves down the corridor to open one of the adjacent room, which lightens the corridor considerably. We sit in silence watching the light creep across the floor and brighten as the sun rises. I close my eyes, to rest them, and when I open them again the clock tells me that two hours have passed. I give Thomas an accusatory look.

"Why didn't you wake me? Have Rachel and Andrew been sent for?"

"Because you need sleep," he says wryly, "and because nothing has happened yet. And yes, they are waiting downstairs."

Satisfied with his answers, I shut my mouth and settle back into the cushioned chair again. Elizabeth's moans, louder now, are suddenly interrupted by a retching sound. My hands tighten on the armrests of the chair as the sound subsides into a cough. Suddenly, Anne opens the door, and I propel myself out of my chair. She holds a sloshing bowl and motions for Thomas to take it.

I hardly care though as I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth. She is standing upright, one hand wrapped around the bedpost and the other holding her nightdress up to her thighs, with her forehead pressed against the wood as she leans into it. Her eyes are screwed shut as she breathes deeply, her chest rising and falling with each breathe.

"Is everything all right?" I ask, my voice faint at the sight of her. Thomas takes the acrid smelling bowl from Anne and disappears down the hall.

"She's just vomited," she says, "but that's normal. It's always the hardest with the first child."

Elizabeth's eyes flutter open, and she sways slightly as she clambers back onto the bed.

"Anne . . ." she calls weakly, her eyes unfocused.

Anne turns away, and the door shuts in my face, but not before Anne says, "That's a girl, take a deep breath."

Behind the door, Elizabeth is screaming, and my heart is about to leap out of my chest with the pain of it all. The moment drags on until with one last renting howl all goes silent. Each second afterward feels like an eternity, and then I hear it, that blessed sweet release in the sound of a mewling babe. I turn to Thomas, who has just arrived upstairs again with Andrew and Rachel in tow, and grin broadly at Andrew as he offers his hand to shake in congratulations. Then the door opens and Anne appears with a small bundle in her arms, her cheeks ruddy and a smile on her face.

"You've a daughter, sir," she says to Andrew and holds the door open so that I can pass through.

The door shuts on the joyous scene unfolding in the corridor, and I am left with Elizabeth who is sitting up in bed with her eyes closed. Despite her matted hair and pink cheeks she is beautiful, and I instantly press a kiss against her forehead. Sounds of talking and crying and laughter outside dissipate after a few minutes, and Anne enters the bedroom again. She works quickly at the end of the bed, clearing away the bloodied linens and pulling fresh sheets over Elizabeth's bare legs.

"You were wonderful, Elizabeth," I say quietly, unable to take my eyes off her, "She's beautiful."

Elizabeth suddenly bursts into tears, throwing her head back against the pillows stacked around her. For all our planning there was no way to prepare for the actual moment of giving this child away, this child that was a constant presence for nine months in both of our lives. There will be a long and winding road ahead of us, but right now all I feel is a contentment that this saga is over and that there is a couple nearby with enough delight to match the sorrow Elizabeth feels.

Nine months ago I was an ignorant Commodore with nothing but a title to my name, and Elizabeth was a pretentious Governor's daughter in love with another man. It can only be seen as a miracle that we were brought so low together and sacrificed so much in order to understand exactly what love means. It only took a baby, in the end, to change everything. Now, here we are, all that is left, husband and wife: each the other's world entire.

**Authoress' Note: **Goodness, birth scenes are notoriously difficult. They either come across as silly and dramatic or the audience doesn't get enough of the action. I hope this was somewhere in the middle. As always, thanks for reading! Your support is much appreciated.


	51. The Greatest of These

**THE GREATEST OF THESE**

The first few months without the baby rival the first few months of our marriage. They are a test to get through, but each day that Elizabeth wakes up beside me is one I am more than thankful for. The pain that Elizabeth feels ebbs with each passing day, and when Rachel, Andrew, and Hannah prepare to leave for England barely a month later both of us go down to the docks to see them off. Rachel promises to write, but Elizabeth and I know she will not, not with a new baby to care for in a new place.

Several times when Elizabeth lies awake late at night with tears in her eyes I wonder if we made the right decision. Almost six months later Elizabeth comes to me with desire written upon her face, and then I know that we have made the right decision. She stands before me and opens her mouth to speak, but I silence her at once with my lips upon her own. I leave her gasping for air, her lips nearly bruised with the forcefulness of our passion.

Her nightgown tumbles down from her shoulders leaving her naked and pale against the dark bed sheets. Her breasts rise and fall as though a bird were trapped in her ribcage and was trying to escape. It is our wedding night as it should have been; she the virgin bride and I the gentle groom fumbling in the dark, lost in our needs.

Every kiss, every caress is reverent, and we make love deliberately, each movement a bittersweet token inching us toward a restoration that can only be found in each other. In the midst of it all I look down at her, my vision blurred. She is beautiful, this woman opening herself to me. She is mine, and I am hers in body and soul; Elizabeth, my wife. Together, we are right on the edge of Heaven, and at this moment, to come crashing back to Earth would be an unwelcome fall. Our release is all too fleet as she wraps her legs about my waist, pulling me closer, with our names on each other's lips. We collapse into one another and fall silent as Elizabeth settles into my embrace. She closes her eyes, preparing perhaps to fall asleep, but then her brow furrows, and she opens her eyes again.

"James?"

"Hmm."

"How were you able to wait so long for this?" she asks quietly, trailing a finger down my chest.

I ponder for a moment how to reply, and then ask, "Do you remember that Sunday at church after you told your father and myself that you were with child? The Reverend preached on Hosea?"

She nods, and I can tell it is still a painful memory for her, but I continue nonetheless.

"After the service everyone left, but I was very conflicted about whether I should continue to pursue marriage with you or not, because I knew you did not love me. I knew it would be a gamble, a leap of faith, but I also knew that I could not back down from the challenge, not when there was so great a reward to be had."

Elizabeth looks up at me and her eyes meet mine. "And has the reward truly been great?" she asks, and though she already knows the answer I indulge her.

"Greater than I could have ever imagined."

- fin -

**Authoress' Note: **To all my faithful readers – thank you SO much for reading this and reviewing it with such heartfelt enthusiasm and careful criticism. :) You have all made this long journey a wonderful one, and I hope you have enjoyed it just as much as I have. For right now, this piece will stand as my last at . I have another year of schooling left for me, and that is where my focus will be. Thank you again, and I hope you all have a blessed year! xoxo Larael


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